


Bound to a Better Man

by SeptimaBode



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Slash, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Verbal Abuse, bad things happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 78,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptimaBode/pseuds/SeptimaBode
Summary: She lies and says she's in love with him, can't find a better manAn errant Death Eater Curse & Hermione Granger was reduced to Muggledom.Nothing will ever be the same.





	1. Prologue

 

 

Life is a series of moments. Snapshots. Glimpses. Pieces.

It’s relatively easy to have a plan, especially when one is a naïve child. The world is a wondrous inviting place, until you venture into the unknown. The unknown can quickly become a sea of darkness laced with monsters. The excitement of new experiences and bright lights can easily become marred by the secrets lingering just beneath the surface.

Our deepest fears ripple and tease our taut skin. They radiate through us and around us in ways and instances we can barely fathom. Our inadequacies are glaringly obvious and they pierce us with every breath we struggle to contain.

The world isn’t a pretty place, but it’s wrapped with such an enticing bow, it’s nearly impossible to resist the draw, and that’s where the problem lies. The world showers us with pretty, pretty words that cause us to believe we’re nearly capable of anything, and of course, we want to believe that. We’re all victims, we simply hadn’t realised it until it was too late.

And that’s where our story begins my dears. The curtains part just after the thrill of defeating the evil. The world is brighter, the air is fresher, and we all breathe a bit easier. Everything is the way it always should have been, except it isn’t.

It’s fraught with shouts from strangers petitioning answers. It’s flashing lights, pushing, shoving, and unrest. The mobs demand their answers in a cacophony of boisterousness that shall not be denied. The solid lines that have always been delicately painted in an invisible line, separating black from white, good from evil, have blurred. Everything, everyone is shrouded in various shades of grey, even our dear, dear Harry Potter.

He struggled to maintain his composure, they all did. He was still a child in so many ways, and yet he was encased within a man. He danced on the edge of the precipice of uncertainty before he gained rather shaky footing. The place he had once considered his true home, held nothing more for him. He wished to escape the walls of his sanctuary stained with the blood of his friends and family.

Ron Weasley retreated within himself with a sense of false bravado and machismo smiles. His precarious relationship with Hermione Granger fizzled before it ever truly began, and it was a relief more than anything else. He was still, would always be, the youngest Weasley brother, but Ron was finally aching to craft a niche without being overshadowed.

While Harry vigorously dove into Auror Training, and Ron convinced the proprietor of Quality Quidditch Supplies to sell his business for an impressive sum of galleons as Hermione Granger faded from the limelight. It was such a slow process, it was hardly noticed really. The focus was on Harry, as it always had been, until one day, Hermione was nothing more than a footnote.

She returned to Hogwarts to complete her education just as the first of the trials began. It was thrilling to return to the place where magic lived. She wasn’t the only student to return, but it was strange for her to wander the corridors without her counterparts.

Hermione threw herself into her studies, which wasn’t the least bit surprising considering her dedicated work ethic. However, what surprised many students and teachers was her choice in study partners. Rather than surround herself with familiar Gryffindors, Hermione spent many an evening cavorting with Slytherins.

“Theo is looking at you again.”

“Don’t be daft.” Hermione stuffed her riotous curls behind her ear and succinctly ignored Luna Lovegood’s observations.

“Of course he could be intently studying the Wrackspurts fluttering around your head.”

“Yes, that must be it, definitely.” Hermione rolled her dark eyes as her quill flew across the parchment.

She finished the last of her scroll with a proud flourish and glanced across the crowded library. Hermione blinked in shock to see Luna’s observations were absolutely correct. She blushed and immediately returned to her studies, though her concentration was understandably fragmented.

“Her.”

“Seriously? You’re choosing Hermione Granger? Are you absolutely mad?”

“Peter, you’re fretting again. You know how much that vexes me. Also, to insinuate that I am not completely in control of my mental acuities is insulting. She’s perfect.” Theodore Nott gently rested his elbows on the dark wooden desk and tented his fingers in silent contemplation.

Peter nervously yanked on his Slytherin tie and cleared his throat until he was on the receiving end on a number of glares. He wasn’t the sort of wizard that enjoyed such underhandedness, which made him an anomaly in Slytherin. He was the son of a reluctant Death Eater and his position in his house was precarious at best. The only thing that really saved his reputation was his duelling abilities, and for that, no one wished to cross him.

“Why her? Why anyone? Why can’t you just…” Peter paused and coughed into the crook of his elbow as half a dozen First Years scurried passed them.

“She hasn’t got anyone, that’s why. She’s completely alone, and that’s what makes her perfect. Do you really think I should forfeit my inheritance? That’s a ridiculous notion, Peter. I haven’t a choice, and I want the best,” Theo’s sardonic smile caused Peter to gulp in fear.

“She’s really brilliant though, she’ll figure it out.” Peter very nearly felt sorry for the brilliant witch.

“Perhaps, but by then it’ll be entirely too late. You forget how long it took her to realise Weasley was shagging Brown. I’ll simply have to pour on the charm. She’ll be wary at first, that much is certain, but eventually, she’ll be mine.” Theo smirked happily and leant back in the rickety wooden chair.

His eyes narrowed slightly when a vivacious red haired witch entered the library with a handful of raucous Gryffindors. His upper lip twitched in displeasure until she tossed her long tresses over her shoulder. His dark eyebrow arched in curiosity when he noted the undone buttons of her school uniform. Her skirt was quite a bit shorter than regulation and Theo had to admit her thighs were quite enticing.

Her laughter drew the attention of the ancient Madam Pince and the uptight Hermione Granger. His gaze flicked between the two witches and the tension was palpable, which made him curious. Theo knew it was entirely too soon to approach the Golden Girl. Hogwarts had only been in session a mere fortnight, but the dark ginger was definitely an option.

“Peter, retrieve her for me.” Theo winked at the girl and made a point to appreciatively rove his eyes over her form as she watched. “My quarters.”

Hermione furtively observed the subtle interactions between the Slytherins, but she hadn’t the time nor the inclination to be involved. She wasn’t particularly fond of the constant interruptions in her studies. She preferred the library best in its silences, but considering the weather was dismal, the library was nearly bursting with bored students.

“Bet you wish you were Head Girl now.” Ginny Weasley snickered as she sauntered passed Hermione’s desk in the corner.

Hermione smashed her lips together in quiet determination and gathered her belongings. Her relationship with Ginny had been strained at best. It didn’t matter how many times Harry and Hermione vehemently denied romantic entanglements during the War, the suspicions lingered. Eventually, Harry and Ginny’s shaky relationship fell to the wayside, and Ginny continued to blame Hermione.

“I’m fine, thanks for your concern.” Hermione’s faux bright smile fooled no one as she hefted her bag onto her shoulder.

Peter waited until Hermione vacated the library before he approached the sneering Weasley girl. She gave him a quick once over and paused when he inclined his head. Ginny didn’t usually waste time with any Slytherins, but Peter seemed harmless.

She waved over her shoulder as she followed Peter into the darkened corridor. It boggled her that he didn’t speak, but she figured there wasn’t any harm within the safety of the castle. Ginny shivered in the damp chill as they descended into the dungeons and nearly turned back. However, her curiosity got the best of her, even as she was led into darkened quarters.

“Nott? What do you want?” Ginny was instantly on guard and she immediately fumbled for the door.

“You’re feisty. I like that. It’s troublesome I must admit, but alluring just the same.” Theodore stepped from the flicking shadows of candlelight and studied his latest acquisition.

“I’m sure you dragged me all the way down here to flatter me.” Ginny pursed her lips and had half a mind to leave when he smiled.

“I do believe we can help each other.” Theo crossed the cosy space and sat upon the black leather settee near the foot of his four-poster bed.

 

* * *

 

“Nott? You’re dating Theodore Nott? I don’t understand at all.” Harry Potter scratched his head and his deep frown was comical. “How did this even happen?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and unravelled her Gryffindor scarf within the warm safety of The Three Broomsticks. She knew she should have expected an outburst, but at least Ron wasn’t present. It would have been so much worse to have this discussion then.

“He asked Harry. It was as simple as that. Things aren’t the same as they were. I mean, I’m not saying everything is wonderful, but the War is over.” She gratefully sipped her hot chocolate and waited for Harry’s response.

“Well, I mean,” Harry sighed. “You are the brightest witch of the age. I suppose if you’ve decided you want to date him, then do it? I don’t know. I’m not good at this sort of thing. It’s…strange isn’t it? I mean, we had these dreams. I was certain you were going to end up with Ron, but that was a disaster. You were positive that Ginny and I would work out our issues, and that never happened either. Maybe this could be good for you, and uhm, at least it’s not Malfoy?” Harry cringed.

There was part of him that expected her to lash out at him and defend their childhood enemy but she didn’t. Her brow was furrowed in silent concentration as she blew on her hot chocolate. Harry knew Draco Malfoy had been permitted to return to Hogwarts to complete his education pending his trial. He hadn’t the slightest idea what sort of interactions there had been between Hermione and Malfoy, but he assumed there had been something based on her owls.

“You’re doing it again, Harry.” Hermione nodded toward a few students Harry didn’t know and kept her eyes on the door.

“Sorry, I know, you keep telling me.” Harry watched Hermione and was quite intrigued by the sudden blush colouring her cheeks.

He was sorely tempted to crane his neck toward the door, but he refrained. It was much more interesting to watch Hermione’s reactions. The way she held her mug of hot chocolate just tight enough for her knuckles to whiten. The way her mouth fell open and her tongue continuously moistened her bottom lip.

“Granger.”

Harry was startled as he expected to see Theodore Nott, yet was instead faced with Draco Malfoy. His green eyes flicked between them quickly, yet he managed to hold his tongue. It looked as though the former Death Eater was irritated with Hermione and that didn’t sit well with Harry.

“Malfoy,” Hermione breathed. “You can…you can join us if you like. Isn’t that right, Harry?” Her tone of voice dared him to refute her words, and Harry knew better.

“No, it’s alright. I simply need to ask Granger a quick question and then I’ll be on my way. Far be it from me to interrupt.” Draco nodded quickly toward Harry, which shocked the dark haired wizard.

“Yeah, it’s fine, Malfoy. I’ll just go get us a few butterbeers.” Harry slid away from the table before Hermione could argue.

It was simple enough to observe them from his stance near the bar. Draco didn’t occupy Harry’s empty seat, instead, he sat beside the Muggleborn witch, and it was obviously Draco was nervous. Harry was intrigued, to say the least, yet he remained at the bar.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione studied the pale hands folded on the tabletop and discerned his upset by the tremble in his fingers.

“I heard a rumour and rather than make assumptions, I thought it best to go directly to the source.” Draco frowned and stuffed his hands into his lap when Hermione moved to touch him.

“There’s always some sort of rumour or another making its way through Hogwarts, you’d think I’d be used to it by now. What is it this time?” Hermione turned slightly and noted the way he refused to meet her gaze.

“Are you,” Draco paused and cleared his throat, “are you dating Nott?” He turned to look at her then, but Hermione’s deep brown eyes had dropped to the table.

“Yes.” She whispered.

“That’s that then.” Draco moved quickly and knocked into the table with his knees in his haste to stand.

“Wait, Malfoy what do you mean?” Hermione grappled for his wrist and she held tight. She could feel the rapid beat of his pulse and she pressed her thumb against it.

“Our study sessions are no longer suitable, Granger. I’m sure Theo will inform you as to the Courting Rituals. It’s a shame really…I…” Draco shook his head and closed his grey eyes. With difficulty, he pried her warm fingers from his wrist and set her hand on the table with a small pat.

“You what? What does my dating Theo have to do with our study sessions? I thought…I thought we were friends, Malfoy.” Hermione stood slowly and she hated the way he stepped away from her.

“So did I.” Draco nodded toward Harry as he made his way toward the door.

“What happened?” Hermione’s voice broke and he paused as he looked over his shoulder. His eyes were cold and the emptiness caused her to shiver.

“You chose him.”

Hermione’s lips parted as she stared after him. She had never considered losing a friend due to her dating habits. Her friendship with Draco Malfoy was new, but with the encouragement of Headmistress McGonagall, it had flourished. Their evenings were spent in the library, and the silences were comfortable. It had been a new experience for Hermione as Harry and Ron had never been the slightest bit interested in schoolwork, but Draco was different.

“That didn’t look like it went well.” Harry plunked the mugs of butterbeer onto the table and pulled her into his arms.

“It didn’t. I thought…I thought we were friends, but he acted as though I had betrayed him by dating Theo. He mentioned something about Courting Rituals, but Theo never said anything about it. It was…it was nice to have…to have someone as interested in knowledge as I am.” Hermione’s shoulders slumped and Harry was quick to wrap his arm around her in comfort.

Harry didn’t pretend he had the answers. He had never been fond of Draco Malfoy and to pretend would have been hypocritical at best. Instead, he did what he did best. He comforted his best friend in her hour of need.

Later, much later, in fact, Harry would reflect upon those moments spent within The Three Broomsticks, and vaguely wonder if there was something he had missed. Hermione had changed and not for the better, but she wasn’t worse either. She was simply vacant.

She smiled. She conversed. She rattled endlessly about Potions and Ancient Ruins, but the light in her eyes was dimmed. She was an empty shell of a witch, and Harry didn’t know what to do about it. Their owls grew sporadic at best, and when it came time for the Malfoy trials, it was the first time they had seen each other in months.

“I’m not overly surprised by the Wizengamot’s ruling.” Hermione struggled into her overcoat as the Golden Trio moved toward the Floo Network.

“I’m not either.” Harry stuffed his wand into the front pocket of his slacks and clapped Ron on the shoulder.

“I am. I mean, I thought they’d get something.” Ron’s freckled nose crinkled and Hermione knew he was moments away from scratching his head. “They spent years just…but then…I mean…nothing. I don’t know what to think really.”

Hermione released the breath she had been holding and for a moment she was proud of him. It seemed that despite the odds and evidence to the contrary, Ronald Weasley had grown up. She smiled brightly at him and he blushed under her scrutiny. Their romance might have been short lived, but their friendship had survived thus far.

“Ms Granger?”

Hermione spun her head quickly and her lips parted in silent surprise. She sensed more than felt Harry and Ron stiffen beside her. She placed her hands on their chest and pushed lightly.

“If I might…have a word?” While the words seemed unsure and downright timid, the derision in the grey eyes was nearly palpable.

She nodded and while she refused the offered arm, she slowly made her way toward the other Malfoys. Hermione steeled herself for callous comments and thinly veiled insults. She refused to stroke the hilt of her wand, as she didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing they made her nervous.

“Granger.” Draco stood beside his mother and nodded quickly in salutation.

“Malfoy.” Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper and Narcissa pursed her lips.

“How did you know?” Draco questioned.

“I thought it fairly obvious, especially during the Final Battle. He had a twitch about him and I had studied the Imperius extensively over the years and…” Hermione clamped her lips together when Draco smirked and arched an eyebrow over her head.

“Yes. Draco’s told me all about your propensity for research. I find myself,” Lucius Malfoy’s face contorted as if he were trying to rid his mouth of an unpleasant taste before he continued, “indebted to you.”

“Oh no, that’s completely unnecessary. I was just doing what anyone else would do. It didn’t seem fair, nor would justice have been served if you had been sent to Azkaban. I mean, I know the Wizengamot was wary of accepting such an explanation considering you used that exact reasoning for your actions during the First War, but I provided them with my memories, which seemed to satisfy them.” Hermione prattled and it was only when Narcissa huffed in irritation that she finally managed to stop speaking.

“Granger, if I might have a word?” Draco looked for his father’s approval and Hermione bit her tongue in order to quash the retort on her tongue.  
“Far be it from me to interfere. Your mother and I will await you nearby.” Lucius waved his hand and Draco’s tension seemed to abate somewhat.

“This isn’t necessary, Malfoy. You don’t need to thank me. You don’t need to demand your father thank me. I’m sure that was exceedingly difficult for him, but I must applaud his manners.” Hermione continuously looked toward the elder Malfoys until Draco’s thumb skimmed across her cheek.

“It wasn’t my idea if you can believe that. He kept saying it was his duty as a Malfoy to accept the fact we are indebted to a witch of questionable heritage,” Draco scoffed. “I just wanted to thank you on a personal level.”

“What?” Hermione was distracted by the warm hand on her cheek and the sight of Harry and Ron staring angrily from their post.

“We were friends once and I know it was difficult for you to trust me. I didn’t blame you. I couldn’t, but I should have thanked you then. You took a chance on me, and just because we were forced to end our tenuous friendship, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten is all.” Draco’s lips stretched into a thin smile.

Hermione looked at him. She really looked at him. She studied the slight crinkles near the corner of his eyes and noted he was much paler than she’d remembered. It was easy to chalk it up to the trials, but there was something else there as well.

“You’re a good man, Draco Malfoy.” Hermione didn’t realise she had reached up to touch his cheek until his hand was grasping hers.

“You shouldn’t say such things, Granger.” Draco shook his head lightly and his lips parted to further his point, yet a commotion drew his attention.

Hermione was so focused on Draco’s change in demeanour she didn’t see the Hex hurtling in her direction until it struck her. She felt herself being propelled backwards and vaguely registered the warm body pressed against her front. She wrestled against the iron clad grip keeping in her place with her usual righteous indignation.

The humming in her ears was distracting, yet it did not keep her from seeing the scene around her. Hermione drew her wand in order to hastily cast defensive spells, yet they did nothing against the hulking Death Eater angrily growling his Dark Magic. Draco snarled as the Death Eater approached and stood his ground.

The flurry of Aurors ran through the Atrium and by that time the Floo Network was roaring to life with witches and wizards fleeing from the madman. Hermione Granger struggled to find Harry and Ron in the mayhem. She was relieved to see them anxiously directing a team of Junior Aurors, until she spied Lucius Malfoy.

The massive Death Eater paused to adjust his terrifying mask with a great round of guttural laughter. Draco Malfoy wielded his wand and kept the other pressing Hermione into his back. He knew she was furious with him, but he had no way of knowing what the spell had done to her. She was a distraction and he knew it. He knew he should have disarmed the man immediately but his first concern had been bloody Hermione Granger.

“Draco!” Lucius Malfoy shouted from the dark corner and Draco knew at least his mother was safe.

“Here!” Draco shouted back to alleviate his father’s concerns and returned his attentions to the enemy.

Draco inwardly scoffed at the Auror’s efforts. They hadn’t known. They hadn’t wanted to know. He recalled his father attempting to inform the Wizengamot of the Dark Magic the Death Eaters had utilised to protect themselves. It wasn’t a simple dabble in the Dark Arts. There was a full immersion that was leagues darker than the Blood Magicks they had utilised to ward off the spells of the Light.

“Kill him!” Lucius roared as he blocked a nefarious spell from striking his wife.

“No, don’t!” Surprisingly, it wasn’t Harry Potter and his bravado that shouted such things, it was some Weasley or another, but Draco couldn’t be bothered to identify the wizard.

“Crucio.” Draco didn’t care for the restrictions of the Ministry. He knew the best way to fight Dark was with Dark, but they wouldn’t hear of such things.

The Death Eater’s knees wavered, but he did not crumple. In fact, he was enraged and his attentions were suddenly focused on the Malfoy heir. Hermione cast a few Stinging Hexes and watched as they rebounded into Order members with a confused furrow to her brow. Her head began to ache and her vision was blurred with nothing more than light when Lucius Malfoy’s clear voice rang over the chaos.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Hermione stiffened and her chest seized with the simple effort to draw breath. Despite Draco’s best efforts, her knees crumpled and he quickly followed. The screams filling her ears caused her head to pound and it was only then that she realised the sounds were emanating from between her lips while Draco writhed beside her.

“The spell.” Draco gasped as his father knelt beside him.

There were more words he wished to say, he needed to say, and yet the blinding searing pain sizzling its way through his body forced him to clamp his lips shut. His teeth ground together and spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. It was important! Draco knew it was terribly important and yet as the excruciating agony tore through him, the pertinent information was lost in the sounds of his hair raising scream.

 

* * *

 

Harry Potter angrily paced the narrow corridors of the fourth floor. The Mediwitches and Healers avoided him due to the angry grimace set on his face. He was never particularly fond of St. Mungo’s, but this was different. This was Hermione.

“It isn’t your fault, Harry.” Ron shrugged his shoulders as Harry passed him and sighed.

He was surprised the Ministry hadn’t immediately taken the Malfoys into custody until he saw Draco Malfoy writhing on the ground beside Hermione. He didn’t know what sort of spell caused damage such as that and was thankful when the Aurors sent for assistance. Ron didn’t mind seeing Malfoy in extraordinary pain, but it was Hermione’s silent screams that hurt him the most.

“Mr Potter, you know we really shouldn’t release any information unless it’s to kin.” The kindly grey-haired Mediwitch tutted softly.

“She doesn’t have anyone else. Just find me a fucking Healer, would you?” Harry waved his wand entirely too close to the Mediwitch’s face and her grey coif bobbed as she nodded.

She gestured toward the closed door and Harry marched to Hermione’s bedside. He pulled on his dark hair and rubbed his green eyes. He couldn’t lose anyone else. He couldn’t.

Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt stood silently at the end of Hermione Granger’s bed. He listened carefully to the medical diatribe while he attempted to stall the inclusion of Harry Potter. The War had been difficult on all of them, yet Harry had been forced to carry a burden heavier than most.

“Harry,” Kingsley sighed.

“It’s bad isn’t it, Minister?” Harry dropped his hands to Hermione’s covered feet and noted how peacefully she slept.

“The Healers were forced to place her in stasis. I believe the Muggles refer to such things as a medically induced coma. Strangely enough, they did the same for young Mr Malfoy. His reactions were quite different than Ms Granger’s.” Kingsley wiped the sweat from his brow with a lacy blue handkerchief and waited for the fallout.

“Kingsley, what are you saying? Her reactions to what? What’s this about Malfoy?” said a very confused Harry.

“The Potions utilised by the Healers interact with the patient’s magicks. It is their magic that forces them throughout the body and causes the patient to awaken. Side effects include short term memory loss, however Ms Granger…” Kingsley paused and swallowed hard.

Harry shook his head. He was confused. He was incapable of properly processing the Minister for Magic’s words. He was mistaken. He was anything and everything all at once, and still he didn’t understand a single word.

“Pretend I’m Ron,” Harry finally spat while he moved from beside the Minister to hold Hermione’s cool hand.

“It seems Hermione Granger has lost her magic,” Kingsley’s lips were set into a firm line and for the first time in a very long time, Harry Potter forgot how to breathe.


	2. Session 42

**Session 42  
** **Hermione Granger  
** **17 August 2000**

* * *

 

_Ms Granger, you've been seeing me for nearly a year now, would you care to share your reasonings for seeking a Counsellor?_

We've already had this discussion. I don't know why you're so incessant upon gleaning a deeper meaning into something when it doesn't exist. The Ministry suggested I seek professional aid due to my inability to acclimate to my loss of magic.

_Patient seems agitated and uncommunicative._

I really hate when you do that. You speak as though I can’t hear you. As if it’s some big secret you’re utilising Muggle means to record our sessions. What do you want from me? You want to hear about my life? It’s wonderful, haven’t you heard? I’m a newlywed, I’m sure that hasn’t escaped your attention and I should be over the moon because my husband is a Pureblood and he doesn’t seem to mind that I’m nothing more than a Muggle. Is that what you want to hear?

_Are you happy?_

Happy, what does that even mean? Are any of us really happy? I suppose we have moments of happiness, but they are fleeting. I was happier when I had magic.

_Were you though?_

Fine, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I wasn’t particularly happy with magic either, but now I know what I’m missing, and I’ve become no better than the sort of witches and wizards I used to despise. I hate being a Muggle. I wouldn’t hate it if I had never had magic, but I did. I was hated for it and told terrible things, but that doesn’t change the fact I had it and now I don’t.

_I’d like to hear about the day in question._

The day in question, gods you’re quite diplomatic, aren’t you? We’ve talked about me for forty-two sessions now, why don’t you tell me something about you?

_You know that's not how this works Ms Granger, your avoidance skills are definitely on point. You would have made a formidable Slytherin._

Perhaps, but my blood wasn't quite pure enough for such things. It's worse now, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't matter that I was instrumental in aiding Harry Potter. It doesn’t matter that I was once considered the brightest witch of the age. I’m bloody well useless now, but I’m supposed to be happy about it.

 

_You're being particularly obstinate today, Ms Granger. Tell me what happened._

I’m sure you’ve read about it. Everyone else seems to know every sordid detail, especially when they’re casting me pitying glances while my husband takes me to Diagon Alley.

 

_Humour me._

It was…after the Final Battle. The War was over and sure, there were some rogue Death Eaters about, but the Aurors were being very diligent in their efforts. There were trials, so many trials, but I only attended one. It was afterwards and strangely enough, Lucius Malfoy was thanking me for my testimony. Harry and Ron hadn’t wanted anything to do with that and had wandered away to discuss their next meal or Quidditch, I’m not sure. It was in the midst of the Ministry, and you’d think it was a safe place, but it wasn’t, not that day. We were near the Floo Network and Draco Malfoy of all people, was telling me how he hadn’t deserved my kindness, but he was grateful for it. I-I didn’t see him…

 

_See who?_

The Death Eater, I didn’t see him, but he was suddenly there. He was quite proficient in nonverbal magic. I don’t know what really happened. I didn’t move fast enough. I was caught off-guard, I don’t know, but my spells weren’t working. Draco Malfoy had thrust me behind him, and I was furious. I wasn’t the sort of witch that needed protecting, but in that instance, I was. The Aurors came running, but it didn’t matter. There was this…blinding flash of light, and all I could hear was Lucius Malfoy shouting the Killing Curse. I woke up in hospital two weeks later without magic.

 

_What happened to Lucius and D-Draco Malfoy?_

Nothing? I don’t know. I heard Draco was in a magically induced sleep, just the way I was. I see Lucius from time to time and he’s cordial. They attended my wedding, which isn’t a surprise considering Draco and my husband are quite close.

 

_I’m going to assume you’ve researched your condition?_

 

Of course, I have! Lucius offered me the use of his personal library, and it seems my magic was bound by the Death Eater, but the man is dead. The question that begs to be asked is…what happened to my magic? Where did it go? How do I get it back?

 

_I wish I had answers for you, Ms Granger…_

Well, what the fuck good are you then? Why am I even wasting my time? This is so stupid.

 

_Patient vacated session_

* * *

 

 

The sky was grey and dreary. The clouds billowing overhead threatened rain, and there was a significant chill in the air. The trees swayed and sodden leaves stuck to the wilted grasses.

 

Hermione Granger-Nott watched the children scampering about the playscape with a small smile frozen on her pink lips. She could have walked home. She could have stoked the fire in order to stave off the chill. She could have worn a warmer cloak, but there were still moments when she forgot her inability to cast a Warming Charm.

 

When the end of summer rains began, she was still sitting there. She blinked through the fat drops that speckled her eyelashes as the children squealed their way home. The thunder rumbled in the distance, yet she barely flinched when the lightning lit the sky.

 

“Hermione?” The soft, soothing voice barely broke through the sounds of the billowing storm around her. “I’ve been looking for you for ages. Your Healer’s office said you’d left hours ago.”

 

Hermione merely blinked as a thick cloak was pushed around her shoulders. It was easy enough to allow the strong arms guide her home. She didn't lean on him or acknowledge him in any way. She listened to him sigh and assumed he was irritated with her behaviours.

 

“You’re soaked through. Come on then, let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Hermione lifted her arms and flinched at the sound of her sodden blouse landing on the washroom tile. She shivered and pushed away the insistent hands that struggled with her belt. She shrugged off the helping hand and stepped into the already steaming shower.

 

Theodore Nott left her to her own devices. It was easier that way. He was used to her shift in moods, and while they were wearing on his thin patience, they were manageable.

 

“Sullivan, tend to Hermione’s clothing. They are in desperate need of laundering. I expect dinner the moment she’s properly dressed. The guests are due to arrive shortly.”

 

Theo didn’t waste pleasantries on house elves, at least not when his wife was indisposed. It made her happy to think the elves were properly treated, and it wasn’t the time to burst the illusion. She’d learn soon enough.

 

They were still within the early stages of their marriage, and Theo always did like to put his best foot forward. He paused before the silver edged mirror and admired himself for a moment. He sneered at a misplaced dark strand and adjusted his ascot, thankful he had thought to cast a Charm to keep him dry.

 

The pale patterned grey silk accentuated his high cheekbones and strong jaw. He was quite proud of the way he looked and sought to keep a muscular form. It wasn’t quite as necessary now that he had procured a wife, but he wasn’t against keeping the deception a bit longer.

 

“Theo?” Hermione tied her damp curls into a sloppy knot at her neck while she called for her husband.

 

“Hermione, it’s obvious you’ve forgotten. For the love of Merlin, go upstairs and dress appropriately. It would never do to greet guests in your Muggle loungewear.” Theo sniffed in disdain and poured a healthy finger of single malt scotch from a crystal decanter into a waiting tumbler.

 

Hermione’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously, yet without a wand, she was nothing more than a woman with a loud voice. She turned on her heel, with thoughts of lacing Theo’s chocolate ganache with laxatives. Instead, she perused the acceptable gowns, robes, and dresses in her wardrobe with a critical eye.

 

She knew Theo preferred when she wore his House colours, therefore she immediately moved passed any varying shade of green and the silver counterparts. Hermione wasn’t in the mood to be accommodating. Instead, she chose a form fitting maroon shift with a small smile.

 

She adored the way it clung to her hips, yet still afforded her the ability of movement. The scoop neck décolletage showcased her cleavage and the cap sleeves alluded to her childhood. Hermione decided it was against her best interest to select the gold stilettos, and instead opted for black peep-toe pumps.

 

Hermione considered the small yet tasteful ruby pendant Ron had gifted her two years ago but opted for the black choker with the ostentatious dangling teardrop diamond. She knew Theo detested the fact Lucius Malfoy had presented her with such a costly gift. It wasn’t that he was incapable, he simply didn't see the need in purchasing expensive gifts for a woman that rarely wore jewellery.

 

She carefully piled her curls on top of her head and used a simple black clasp to hold the coif in place. Hermione glanced into the black-rimmed mirror over her matching black bureau and shrugged at her reflection. She’d never considered herself a beauty, but she was pleased with the end result.

 

As Hermione carefully descended the wide staircase with her hand on the balustrade, she could hear the light sounds of laughter and conversation. She wasn’t particularly in the mood for entertaining, but she had learned over a year ago, whatever Theodore Nott wanted, he got. With a gentle pat to an errant curl, Hermione pasted a smile on her lips and entered the lounge.

 

She wasn’t expecting the eclectic group that greeted her. Hermione assumed she’d be forced to sit through another achingly boring meal with Theo’s mates. They weren’t rude to her, or anything of the like, she simply had no desire to listen to them banter about their days spent within the walls of Hogwarts. It always caused her heart to ache with longing, and Hermione would rather avoid such things if it could be helped.

 

“Ah, there she is. Hermione, come say hello, love.” Theo stretched his long arm toward her in a lighthearted manner that had been missing the past few weeks.

 

“I wasn’t expecting all this.” Hermione’s toffee eyes lit with excitement as they scoured the rather large gathering of friends and easily slid into Theo’s open arms.

 

“I thought it would be nice to have a reunion of sorts. It’s been awhile since you’ve had the opportunity to see everyone, and you do put up with my men’s evenings. It was the least I could do.” Theo poured her a glass of merlot with his free hand and applied pressure to her hip.

 

“I should make the rounds and greet our guests.” Hermione pecked his rugged cheek and moved away from him.

 

She didn’t see the way his blue eyes narrowed and the smile fell from his compressed lips. He raked his fingers through his dark hair and watched his wife greet their guests with half an eye. He felt the warm body as it sidled into his side, and sighed with desire laced in relief.

 

“She’s quite the social butterfly, isn’t she?” The warm soothing tone washed over Theo’s body and he nearly shuddered.

 

“When it suits her,” Theo crooned. “She’ll ask me why you’re here.”

 

“Why we’re old friends, of course.”

 

Theo felt the warm hand slide down his back and gently squeeze his arse cheek. He bit his lip, only to keep the gasp lodged in his throat from escaping. He swallowed hard and his blue eyes were riveted by the sight of obscenely tight slacks swishing passed him. Theo finally shook his head and met the cool discerning gaze of Draco Malfoy.

 

The Malfoy heir was content to recline upon an armchair and observe more than participate. He had made the assumption the evening was going to be nothing more than yet another dull dinner party. On one hand, he was pleased to be wrong, and yet on the other, it was difficult to watch Theo maintaining his previous lifestyle.

 

“I was nearly certain Nott had outgrown his childhood predilections.” Daphne Greengrass perched on the arm of his chair. “Do you think she’s aware?”

 

“I doubt it,” Draco drawled. “I don’t imagine Granger is the sort of witch to tolerate infidelities.”

 

“No, I imagine not. She hasn’t even touched her wine. It’s a shame to let such a lovely vintage go to waste. Perhaps I’ll offer to take it off her hands.” Daphne tossed her head and her chestnut strands brushed Draco’s cheek.

 

"Must you?" Draco leaned away from her offensive hair with a quick snarl. "Granger doesn't drink red. She prefers a sweet white or even a lovely prosecco. Don't look at me like that. I've always paid attention to details. She's one of us now, at least by proxy, and I can't ignore her forever."

 

Daphne laughed, and her laugh was always infectious. It drew the attention of the rather large dinner party with indulgent smiles. She stretched her long bare legs before she stood in order to adjust her violet dress.

 

“Oh Draco, when have you ever been able to ignore Hermione Granger?” She waved over her shoulder and didn’t waste another minute in securing her place beside Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

 

Harry didn’t waste his time wondering why he had been invited to Theodore Nott’s ancestral home. They weren’t overly friendly outside of their forced interactions, yet they weren’t enemies either. They had a cordial sort of relationship, which is something that happened within the walls of the St. Mungo’s.

 

Harry often made regular visits to St. Mungo’s, and invariably, his injuries, or those of his team, were treated by Theodore Nott. He wasn’t sure what to make of the wizard, as Harry didn’t know him particularly well. The bloke seemed nice enough and considering Hermione Granger had married Theo, Harry was of the belief he couldn’t be all that bad.

 

“Did Ron come with you?” Hermione had immediately embraced Harry ever so lightly, yet refrained from the squeal she wished to release. She knew Theo didn’t appreciate such theatrics as he called them.

 

“The offer was extended to him, but you know how Ron is. He still thinks it would be weird to hang out with a bunch of Slytherins. He’s still on about that whole not using magic bit as well. I told him it was unnecessary…” Harry sighed and shook his head.

 

“But I know how Ron is. He’s being ridiculous. It’s been nearly two years at this point. He’s really got to stop avoiding me. I’m not a completely different person simply because I can’t use magic. Honestly, he’s never going to grow up, I swear.” Hermione huffed yet it quickly turned into a gasp when nimble fingers removed the wine glass from her hands.

 

“I believe you’ll find this more to your tastes, Granger.” Draco Malfoy offered his hostess a flute, and she took a small sip with a grateful smile.

 

"This is absolutely lovely, Prosecco is it? I don't recognise it I'm afraid." Hermione shifted her weight between her feet as she attempted to venture into the realm of small talk with her husband’s best mate.

 

“Ca’ dei Zago Col Fondo, you’ll find it’s a bit…”

 

“Creamier.” Hermione blushed prettily as they completed the statement together.

 

“Draco, would you escort my wife to dinner? Potter, I believe Daphne was looking for you.” Theo barely controlled the sneer that ached to be shared.

 

Harry Potter, Auror, was astute enough to judge the man’s displeasure. He patted Hermione’s back with promises to lunch soon and sought out his date for the evening. Of course, she was ensconced in conversation with his least favourite witch, and he grit his teeth. Pansy Parkinson looked him up in down in that derisive manner that was solely hers and continued to chat as though he did not exist.

 

He stood idly by while the conversation concluded and escorted Daphne to the impressive dining table. He was enthralled with the size of the room, and the number of obviously antique heirlooms. He hadn’t known Hermione was partial to grandeur. She had always been fond of the simple when they were young, but they were all grown up now and things had obviously changed.

 

Harry noted Hermione sat herself at the end of the table, as Draco had been accosted by his date of the evening. Even he could see the poor girl was a bother and doubted Astoria Greengrass would be joining them again. He sat beside his oldest friend and was surprised to note Draco Malfoy requisitioned the seat across from him.

 

The rest of the evening passed as most evenings did. Blaise Zabini doted upon his long-time girlfriend Isobel, and even Draco noted the longing present in Hermione’s downcast eyes every time Blaise kissed Isobel’s hand. Pansy chattered endlessly about her Quidditch star boyfriend, despite the fact they’d all gone to school with Oliver Wood. Astoria fawned over Draco Malfoy in such a way even Hermione was nauseous. Daphne engaged in light conversation with nearly every guest except for Ernie Macmillan, but only because she didn’t much like the man.

 

Hermione gazed down the long table, but it was impossible to see her husband over the large centrepieces. She never quite understood his desire for such formal dining. She'd been raised in a much more informal manner and had enjoyed the casualness of meals with friends. Theo, on the other hand, was absolutely adamant in maintaining the traditions of his father, and far be it from Hermione to remind Theo his father was a Death Eater.

 

“Haven’t seen you about much, Malfoy.” Harry frowned at the slab of red meat on his plate and looked to Hermione.

 

He knew she didn’t care for red meat, therefore he wasn’t surprised when she avoided it in favour of the roasted vegetables. Harry noted Theo's calculating gaze was centred on Hermione, and he knew she felt it as well. He watched her slice a sliver of meat and force it between her lips with a small smile in her husband's direction. It was only then that Theo relaxed and returned to his conversation with Ernie Macmillan.

 

“I’ve been holed up in my lab. It’s wretchedly difficult employing impeccable research assistants. Apparently, my notes are too detailed, and I ask too much of them, which is ridiculous. I didn’t train as a Healer to coddle them, but these youngsters don’t understand time constraints.” Draco rolled his grey eyes heavenward and pushed aside his plate.

 

“I didn’t know you were a Healer.” Hermione set her silver cutlery upon her plate and turned her attention to her glass of prosecco.

 

“Well, no I’m not, not really. I’m more than capable, but I have absolutely no desire to pander to patients. I was always more interested in the research aspects. I spend my time in my laboratory. St. Mungo’s wouldn’t…allow me to produce their Potions without Healer training. I suppose they viewed it as some sort of proof I was sufficiently rehabilitated.” Draco waved his elegant hand airily.

 

“Hermione here is aces at research.” Harry casually ignored Hermione’s glower.

 

His Auror training and instincts forced him to accept the fact there was something amiss within Hermione’s relationship. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, not yet, but Harry knew it was there. It was in the way Hermione’s eyes naturally drifted toward Theo before answering a question or even participating in a conversation. It was in the way she avoided touching anyone other than her husband.

 

“Oh Harry, I couldn’t possibly. I’m so busy at the library as it is. I’d never get anything done at home if I took on another project.” Hermione took a small sip from her flute as Draco and Harry’s eyes met over the tremble of her fingers.

 

“Are you…alright?” Harry leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table as he studied her peaceful façade.

 

“Whatever do you mean, Potter? Hermione is simply exhausted, she’s had a long day, isn’t that right, love?” Theo had rounded the table with an admired stealth and placed his heavy hand upon Hermione’s creamy shoulder.

 

“Absolutely. Everything’s fine. I’m a bit tired is all. I apologise for being less than my best.” Hermione smiled brightly as she offered her apologies, and it made Harry uneasy.

 

“Would you see to the plates? It’s late and Sullivan has already retired for the evening.” Theo squeezed her shoulder a bit harder than necessary and kissed her temple. “Boys, let’s retire to the lounge.”

 

Hermione carefully stood and with a slump to her shoulders, gathered the used plates in front of her. As she reached for Harry’s, he covered her hand, yet she drew away as though she’d been burned. Instead, she turned to Draco and balanced his places on top of hers.

 

“Nott, you’ve got bloody house elves. Why are you resorting to using your wife as the hired help?” Draco looked to Blaise and was satisfied to see the heavy frown upon the wizard’s tanned face.

 

“It’s quite alright. There’s no need to bother the elves at this time of night. They really do more than is necessary and you know my stance on magical labour.” Hermione bent her knees in order to heft the weight of Theo’s grandmother’s China, and it was Harry that stepped in.

 

“No, Hermione. This is ridiculous.” Harry waved his wand and the plates floated directly into the expansive pristine kitchen. “You could have done that yourself, Nott.”

 

The dwindling conversations completely ceased at Harry’s interruption, and the air was thick with tension. Draco fingered the hilt of his wand as he watched the tic in Theo’s cheek jump in agitation. He didn’t particularly want to hex his friend, but he would.

 

“Thank you, Harry. Theo tends to avoid using magic at home since he knows it’s still a bit of a sore spot with me, and I appreciate it. Harry was just being helpful, dear.” Hermione smoothed her palms over Theo’s burly chest.

 

Theo’s lips parted, and it was Daphne who interrupted what she was sure would be an angry tirade. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned, quite loudly. She reached over and dug her fingers into Harry’s forearm.

 

“Harry, I’m completely knackered. Would you see me home?” Daphne pulled Harry to his feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thanks so much for having us. We’ll have to do lunch soon, Hermione.”

 

Theodore nodded curtly, though it was obvious the tension in his shoulders had relented for the moment. Draco swallowed hard when he noted the white knuckled grip on Hermione’s hip. Her smile never faltered, but he knew it had to hurt. The action made him recall things he’d rather forget.

 

“Would you make some tea? I think I’d like a cup as I see our guests out.” Theo’s tone was authoritarian and Hermione vacated the room as quickly as humanly possible.

 

“Pansy, would you see Astoria home? I’ve got a bit of business to discuss with Blaise and Theo. It wouldn’t do to have her wait until I’m done.” Draco’s head jerked toward his silent blonde companion and she nodded.

 

“Isobel will go with you.” Blaise Zabini imperceptible nod toward Draco’s direction was met with a steady gaze.

 

Theo remained still. His blue eyes were dangerously dark, but he was pleased to see his guests scampering for the exit. His gaze lingered on Astoria’s form, but only as a means to catch the eye of the object of his affections. He winked and received a slow, promising smile in return, which only made his cock twitch in anticipation.

 

“Zabini, would you be so kind as to bring Ernie up to date on our advances in Healing Potions? I'm sure Malfoy could fill in the rest. I'll join you momentarily." Theo waited until the last of the green flames ebbed before he addressed his mates.

 

The three wizards made their way into Theo’s private study in silence. It was near the kitchen, which didn’t sit well with Draco. He had a viable suspicion and the last thing he wanted was for the suspicion to come to fruition. He sat on the black leather armchair nearest the double doors and remained on the edge of his seat.

 

Blaise waited silently and patiently for Draco to speak. He unbuttoned his black blazer and loosened his pinstriped grey tie the moment he flounced onto the black leather settee. He was used to the brooding silences of Slytherins.

 

Ernie Macmillan’s cheeks were a delightful shade of pink, yet they were completely out of place considering the circumstances. He fumbled with a decanter on top of the dry bar, and from the looks of it, Ernie was quite familiar with Nott’s office. Draco and Blaise watched the wizard as he strode directly to a built in bookcase and snatched a book from the shelf without browsing the titles.

 

“He looks comfortable.” Blaise sniffed with disdain and stared at the tray ceiling.

 

“I was under the impression Theo had given him up long before he reacquainted with Granger.”

 

“There’s no need to talk about me as if I’m not here boys.” Ernie’s neck wobbled in such a way he probably thought it was intimidating, but in reality, it was quite laughable.

 

“Alright then, mind explaining why you’re still buggering Theo when he’s got a wife? Isn’t that just a bit disrespectful?” Draco slammed his elbows onto his knees and snarled at the blushing Hufflepuff.

 

“I didn’t! I don’t know what you’re talking about! Don’t!”

 

The keening feminine voice sent a shiver down Draco’s spine. He cracked his neck and stood slowly while his upper lip twitched with derision. Blaise was quick to intervene and blocked Draco’s path with his large frame.

 

“We’ve got to do something.”

 

“Malfoy, this isn’t our fight. She had to have known. She couldn’t possibly be that naïve.” Blaise kept his voice low and the deep timbre soothed Draco’s frayed nerves.

 

“Did you know? Did you know what Nott was capable of doing before you saw Tracey Davis? The girl left the fucking country because of him. You know…you know what my father did, and you just expect me to let it be?” Draco forged forward, but Blaise refused to yield.

 

“Why do you care? Can you tell me that Malfoy? You hated Granger when we were kids. What the fuck do you care if Nott is being his usual glorious self? Maybe she gets off on it…” Blaise Zabini’s head reeled from the solid fist that struck his jaw.

 

“It doesn’t matter. We’re not children anymore. She’s one of us now. You want to blame someone, blame Nott. He married her. He forced her on us. He made sure we were accepting of her and now I’m just supposed to turn aside? I don’t think so.” The spittle flew from Draco’s lips and struck Blaise’s cheek, but the larger man didn’t flinch. “I can’t turn my back on her, not again.”

 

“Malfoy is quite dramatic isn’t he?” Ernie barely raised his head from the pages of his book and snorted at the arguing duo. “I can’t fail her again. Merlin, you’d think he watched her be tortured.”

 

“Macmillan, you really need to shut the fuck up.” Blaise braced his weight in the doorjamb and pushed against the fury ridden Malfoy heir.

 

“I watched my crazy aunt torture her, you son of a bitch. Maybe if you were less concerned with Nott’s cock up your arse and more concerned with your fellowman, you'd know such things. You fucking Hufflepuff." Draco kicked Blaise in the shin hard enough to elicit a yelp and pushed the large Italian wizard over.

 

He didn’t have a plan of action, not really, and yet he ran. Draco hurried toward the kitchen, toward the sounds of stifled sobs and shattering glass. Visions of his mother crouched in the corner while his father berated her danced before his eyes, and it was difficult for him to draw a full breath. He pushed open the heavy swinging door and paused with his mouth agape.

 

Theodore Nott had his wife wedged onto the countertops. His dark grey slacks were crumpled at his ankles, and Draco wished he could erase the sight of Theo’s naked arse thrusting forward. Hermione’s dress was torn at the shoulder and her breast bounced freely. Her little red dress was hiked up over her hips, but that wasn’t what gave Draco pause.

 

_“Please, don’t.”_

 

The tears streaming down her cheeks left tracks in her light makeup, and Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of her anguish. She winced with every thrust as her head slammed into the cupboards behind her head. She mouthed the words with swollen lips amidst the unwilling grunts and groans.

 

He couldn’t deny her, just as he couldn’t deny his mother a dozen years ago. Draco nodded, unwillingly at best and allowed the door to swing closed. The bile rose in his throat and instead of rushing toward the lavatory, Draco lifted the urn containing Cantankerous Nott’s ashes and vomited in it.

 

“We’ll need a plan.” Blaise offered a silk handkerchief completely bereft of judgement.

 

“We’ll need Potter,” Draco choked on the words as he wiped the last of the bile from his pink lips.

 

“I locked Macmillan in the study. She’ll need a watch.” Blaise scowled and led Draco to the settee near the Floo.

 

"I'll hire her. I'll utilise Theo's study, he won't mind. He trusts me. He won't have a fucking choice. I know his secrets." Draco gripped his pale blonde hair in both hands and nearly yowled with the frustration of it all. "I fucking hate him, Blaise. I fucking hate him."

 

Blaise Zabini grunted his agreeance, but there was nothing more to be said. Theodore Nott might have been one of their best mates at one time. They might have trusted him with their lives at one time. They might have many things at one time. However, it was different now. Theodore had crossed the invisible line, the unspoken line, and there was no coming back from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the themes presented in this story are rather dark and if that's not your particular cup of tea, perhaps this story isn't for you. cheers.
> 
>  
> 
> \-- beta'd by RavenLight_Dragon


	3. Session 48

**Session 48  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

_ You’re especially quiet today, Ms Granger.  
  
_

Yes, you’re very astute.  I don’t know how I would manage to get through the day without your ability to state the obvious.  
  


_ Patient is fond of using sarcasm to deflect.  Evidence of bruising, upper left cheekbone.  I suspect an injured rib or two.  Would you care to address my concerns?  
_

It’s not what you think.  I’m very clumsy.  My husband is always telling me how clumsy I am.  I was carrying too much and I simply slipped is all.  I’ll be right as rain in no time.  
  


_ Ms Granger, I’d like to remind you that this is a safe place.  Nothing that is said here will ever be repeated.  On that note, why don’t you try the truth?  
  
_

H-he isn’t always like that.  He’s generally very nice to me.  He didn’t…he didn’t leave me after I lost my magic and that was…that was very important to me.  We hadn’t been dating for long and we were still learning about each other, but when I awoke after the accident, he was there, and that’s more than I can say for Ron.  
  


Ron always felt as though he was inconsequential, so you’d think he’d be happy now.  He was always angry with me for being…for trying to my best at everything, and now I can’t.  I haven’t got the magic I fought so hard to prove I deserved.  Ron sees me as irrevocably broken.  I suppose it’s easier for him to avoid me.  
  


_ Tell me about your husband.  Are you aware of the fact you’ve never spoken his name?  
  
_

I chose you out of the list of Healers because you’re relatively unaware of my history.  You could invade my privacy and look up every sordid detail of my life, but I’ve trusted you not to do that.  I don’t speak my husband’s name because I don’t want you to know.  I don’t want to see the judgement in your eyes.  I don’t want to see the shock.  
  


What is it you’d like to know?  Does it please you to know I’m reduced to living in the ancestral home of a former Death Eater?  My husband refuses to consider new accommodations.  He claims it was good enough for him and perhaps I shouldn’t have such lofty ideals.  Would you like to know about his father’s portrait that shouts at me whenever I step into the library?  Yes, the house I reside in has a library that I can’t even bloody use, how is that for irony?  
  


He got me sacked from my job at the library and I really loved that job.  He claimed it was entirely too Muggle for his wife.  I’m entertaining the idea of becoming a research assistant for…well, it doesn’t matter whom it’s for, but I am not looking forward to broaching the subject.  
  


Come on then, give me details on what it is you’d like to know?  How about the fact he loses his temper fairly easily.  I can’t tell you the number of plates he’s smashed against the wall.  Or how about the fact, the idea of me ever saying no to his sexual advances is absolutely out of the question?  Maybe…maybe you’d like to know about the time I managed to leave him…  
  


_ Ms Granger…Ms Granger…Hermione.  
  
_

No, Gemma.  You wanted to know about my husband, about my life.  I’m sorry you don’t like what you’re hearing, but you don’t get to thrust a hanky into my hands and call it good.  
  


H-he’s worse when we venture into Muggle London.  He doesn’t care that they can see him.  He detested the fact I took the Underground.  I couldn’t do anything about it.  I couldn’t fight him off and the library patrons were completely aghast at his behaviour.  He was angry because I forgot to tell Sullivan to press his slacks.  
  


I haven’t gone back.  The library, Islington Central Library just in case your curiosity overwhelms you, they’ve contacted me via post, but I throw them away.  I cut off my hair not long after.  I didn’t want to give him anymore to hold onto than necessary.  He hates it.  I paid for it, but it was worth it.  
  


_ Was it though?  Was it really worth it when you come to these sessions battered and bruised?  
  
_

No, yes, I don’t know.  If I had a wand, I wouldn’t be in this situation.  If I had my magic, I wouldn’t be stuck in this horrible marriage with this horrible hair.  I haven’t anyone to turn to, which is sad now that I think about it.  Harry would rush in without thinking and things would be even worse.  Do you know how difficult it is to petition the Wizengamot for Dissolution of Marriage?  It’s practically unheard of, and for good reason.  I’m honestly happy he couldn’t bind my magic.  Gods, could you imagine?  I’d never break free.  I mean, I don’t have high hopes, but there’s still a piece of me that irrationally clings to this hope that…that…  
  


_ That perhaps one day he’ll tire of you and set you free. _

Either that or he’ll kill me.  Either way, I’d be free, now wouldn’t I?  
  


_ There aren’t many services for witches or even wizards looking to escape an abusive relationship.  I’m not positive there are even statutes to protect…  
  
_

There aren’t, not really.  You forget, I spent more than half my life studying.  I entertained the idea of pursuing a career as a solicitor.  I couldn’t do it, not after everything I learned.  The Wizarding Laws are so completely antiquated, I’d spent the entirety of my life fighting and for what?  Do you have an answer for that, Gemma?  No, I didn’t think so.  
  


* * *

 

Hermione Granger-Nott winced with every step.  She swallowed hard and avoided being jostled by the late afternoon crowds.  She walked as slowly as possible, yet it wasn’t only due to the pain.  She wasn’t in the slightest hurry to return to her home.  
  


She cringed at the thought of the word home more than anything else.  It wasn’t her home, Theo had made that abundantly clear within the first few months of their marriage.  He was content with the way things were and adjusting to include his wife was a completely foreign idea.  
  


She missed the library already.  She missed her hair.  She missed her magic.  She missed feeling as though the entire world was at her fingertips.  She might be able to wander Diagon Alley, but she couldn’t get there on her own, thanks to Theo.  
  


Hermione wondered when it all went wrong.  How did a man seem so kind and loving only to turn into a monster?  How does a man claim to love you as they’re hurting you?  Theo might have consistently claimed it was for her own good, but her last speck of tenacity refused to accept such nonsense.  
  


Of course, he refused to use magic to heal her.  He claimed it was better for her to heal without aid.  However would she learn anything if every bump and bruise were erased as though it had never happened?  No, she must suffer and continue to be a dutiful young wife, as every woman should.  
  


Hermione never told Theo how empowered she felt after her counselling sessions.  There was something about them that was incredibly enlightening, and it kept her brain sharp.  She lived for those moments, even if some sessions were more difficult than others.  
  


She supposed one day she would walk out the front door and never return.  There was no point in planning her escape.  She hadn’t an owl.  She hadn’t a single Knut to her name.  Her parents were still somewhere in Australia, not that Theo thought it was worth his time and efforts to discover their whereabouts.  
  


She couldn’t turn to Harry, and Ron was out of the question.  They were the first wizards Theo would suspect.  He had a gift when it came to spinning a yarn.  While she knew Harry was quite intuitive now that he was an Auror, Hermione didn’t trust anyone when faced with Theo’s charms.  
  


She needed a new friend.  She needed someone trustworthy who wouldn’t easily fall into Theo’s tangled web.  She needed a new job and a hidden vault.  She needed many things, but the offer from Draco Malfoy was still a consideration.  
  


Hermione couldn’t say she trusted the bloke, but she didn’t distrust him either.  He and Lucius were instrumental in keeping her alive, and that was to be commended.  Draco saw her at her worst, and never commented on it.  She found that insanely curious, but she was unable to broach the topic with Theo’s suffocating proximity.  
  


The remnants of her hair blew in the light breeze and she shivered.  Hermione knew she should have left well enough alone, but she was so angry.  It really was her only means of rebellion.  Her hair was the only thing she had complete autonomy over, yet Hermione knew it wouldn’t last much longer.  
  


Theo was absolutely furious with her and her ribs bore the fruit of her obstinance.  She still maintained it was fucking worth it.  Her curls gently kissed her jawline and she grit her teeth while she ascended the steps to Theodore Nott’s ancestral home.  
  


“Miss is late!  Master will be displeased.”  The ever so judgemental Sullivan tapped his deformed foot impatiently and Hermione thrust her cloak into his waiting arms.  
  


“Master is always displeased, Sully.”  She brushed passed the bristly little elf and made her way to the study.  
  


Theo’s dark hair gently brushed his forehead as he gazed into the dwindling fire.  Hermione had to admit he looked quite fit without his shirt and his lounge pants riding low on his hips.  Attraction was never the issue, it was the cruelty that obliterated the likelihood of any affection toward her husband.  
  


“Come here.”  Theo’s dark demanding voice sent a chill down her spine, but Hermione did as she was bid.  It was easier that way.  
  


She slipped off her low-heeled black pumps and crept across the uninviting black marble with her heart in her throat.  She never knew what to expect as far as Theo’s moods were concerned.  They were capable of altering in the blink of an eye.  This wasn’t the way she wanted to live.  This wasn’t the way she hoped to live, yet she was now trapped, and couldn’t see an end in sight.  
  


“Your session went well?”  Theo opened his arm and Hermione knew she was to step within the dangerous circle.  
  


“Yes.  I apologise for my tardiness, there were so many people about, it made it difficult to hurry.”  She laid her head on his chest and refused to squirm when his arm tightened around her.  
  


“I must admit I was perturbed, but the plans for the evening have quickly rectified my sour mood.  Have you considered what we discussed?”  Theo tugged her plain white blouse from the waistband of her drab black skirt and stroked the exposed skin.  
  


Hermione’s brown eyes fluttered closed as she recalled their conversation with a sense of dread.  She was well aware of Theo’s insistent desires to enhance their sex life, but he had reached new lows with his latest suggestion.  She’d ventured down the path of bindings, blindfolds, and even role-play, but she had limits, not that Theo cared.  
  


“I don’t understand how watching your wife have sex with someone else could be the least bit titillating, Theo.”  Hermione felt his warm fingers on her bra clasp and knew it would go badly for her if she refused his advances.  
  


“Darling, I’m Slytherin.  We’ve always shared and for me to keep you all to myself just doesn’t seem fair.  Now, I’m being quite lenient and allowing you to choose from a select few.  They’ll be arriving within the hour.  You really should freshen up.  You want to look your best.”  Theo fingered his wand on the mantle and stared down at her with a critical eye.  “I’ll heal you, of course.  I can’t expect them to find you enticing if you’re damaged goods.”  
  


“What’s in it for me?”  Hermione refused to drop her gaze from his narrowed eyes.  
  


Theo shoved her from him and he tilted his head to the side.  He disliked the fire in her eyes.  He disliked the obstinance in her stance.  He knew he’d have to do something about that and soon, but perhaps if he gifted her a small consideration, she’d be on her best behaviour.  
  


“What would you like, my love?”  Theo purred as he walked around her slowly and healed her bruises.  
  


“Malfoy owled you about the research assistant position.  I want it.”  Hermione crossed her arms and jutted her chin forward.  
  


“There will, of course, be…certain necessary specifications.”  Theo patted her bum with a practised hand as his cock twitched in his slacks in delight.  “I’ll discuss them with Draco later this evening.”  
  


Hermione nodded and was quite prepared to turn on her heel when Theo gripped her forearm harshly.  There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, which pleased Theo greatly.  He enjoyed keeping her off-kilter.  He had always believed her to be an incredibly insufferable woman, but after the loss of her magic, he felt even more powerful.  
  


“What is it now, Theo?  You said we’re to receive guests.”  Hermione tore her arm from his clutches and dared him to lay one finger on her.  
  


“You have until the end of the evening to make a decision as to your partner.  If you refuse, I’ll fucking Imperius you and offer you to the highest bidder of remaining Death Eaters.”  Theo smiled quite nastily and waited for her retort.  
  


“There aren’t any Death Eaters left.”  Hermione huffed, quite confident until he stepped closer.  
  


“Do you really believe that, darling?”  Theo laughed with delight as he watched his wife pale before she hurried from the study.  
  


His intent to share his wife was nonexistent really.  The thought was there, and it intrigued him, but Theo’s favourite tool of manipulation was fear.  He liked to see her eyes widen when his words washed over her.  He enjoyed seeing her tremble when he drew near.  He absolutely loved the fact she couldn’t do a bloody thing to stop him.  Perhaps he would share her, and perhaps he wouldn’t.  Theo hadn’t quite decided yet, but the anticipation excited him.  Vaguely, he wondered if Ernie could be cajoled into sucking his cock in the library after dinner.  
  


Hermione showered quickly and cursed quietly.  It wouldn’t do to spout such vitriol where Theo could hear her.  He disliked obstinance.  He disliked disagreeance.  He disliked nearly everything and it wasn’t the first time Hermione contemplated on his reasonings for marrying her.  
  


She supposed it had to do with her name more than anything.  It also didn’t hurt his dwindling coffers that she had readily agreed to add him to her Gringott’s vault.  Hermione didn’t realise until her vault was nearly depleted what he had done, and by then it was too late.  
  


She was always the sort of woman that gave credit where credit was due, and Theo deserved it.  He had waltzed into her life and for the first and only time in her life, Hermione had allowed herself to be swept up in the romance of it all.  After spending most of her time with two self-involved boys, the idea that a man existed who remembered her favourite flowers and how she preferred her tea was important.  
  


Hermione refused to cry.  He wasn’t worth her tears.  He wasn’t worth much of anything, but leaving was out of the question.  Her pride was going to be her undoing and while she knew it, it didn’t stop her.  She never believed she’d be in such a position.  She had would have graduated Hogwarts at the top of her class, but life had a cheeky sense of humour.  
  


She had always valued education and knowledge.  She had spent six years mocking girls such as Lavender and Parvati who squealed over the latest Beauty Spell.  She had strived to be the antithesis of flighty flirty fun, and perhaps she was, but she was also a prisoner.  Escape was the ever elusive dream, and still, she desperately clung to it.  
  


“Hermione?  Theo asked me to hurry you along, you know how impatient he is.”  
  


“Pansy?  What are you…what are you doing up here?”  Hermione squeaked and quickly covered her bruised ribs with her discarded damp towel.  
  


There was pity laced with understanding in the dark eyes, and Hermione didn’t much care for it.  She wasn’t friendly with Pansy, nor did she think the witch much liked her.  She watched Pansy close the door softly and the stubborn set of her jaw alarmed Hermione slightly.  
  


“I could help you, if you’d let me.”  Pansy marched toward the magically extended wardrobe and sifted through the meagre selection of gowns.  “We’re not friends, Granger.  We probably won’t ever be friends, and I don’t even care, that’s not the point.  I know Theo quite intimately.”  
  


“I don’t…I’m not really interested in Theo’s…”  
  


“You misunderstand, Granger.  I’ve never slept with Theo.  I’m not his particular potion.  You’re not either, but I doubt you’re aware.  I mean it must be awful to lose your magic.  There was a time when I didn’t truly believe you deserved your magic, but you were quick to dispel that notion weren’t you?  Of course, you were.  However, whether you’ve magic or not, you deserve better than Theo.  He’s only going to hurt you in more ways than one.”  Pansy’s upturned nose crinkled in distaste as she bypassed the majority of Hermione’s wardrobe.  
  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  It was habit to say such things and Hermione almost wished she had spoken the truth of the matter.  
  


“Yes you do, but that’s alright.  Here, this black one is a pretty number.  Theo really is quite miserly as far as his wife is concerned.”  Pansy sniffed and Hermione recognised the calculating gleam in her dark eyes.  “I suppose it’s my duty to suggest an outing.  Just leave it all up to me.”  
  


While Hermione stepped into the subdued black dress, Pansy placed acceptable underclothes on the four-poster bed.  She gasped when Pansy zipped up the back of the short dress and swallowed hard.  She had nearly forgotten the garment and wished Pansy had never discovered its existence.  
  


“I can’t wear this.”  Hermione breathed.  “He’ll kill me.”  
  


She tugged on the short hem and gasped as she turned to examine herself.  It wasn’t that the dress accentuated her every curve.  It wasn’t a matter of impropriety, however, Theo’s strict rules kept Hermione demure, unless he chose her ensemble.  It was easier that way.  Hermione had become the sort of woman that sought to keep the peace, for the sake of her sanity.  
  


“If he didn’t want you to wear it, he wouldn’t have purchased it in the first place.”  Pansy nodded happily as she busied herself with taming Hermione’s mane of curls.  
  


“H-he didn’t.”  Hermione allowed Pansy smooth her shortened curls and gasped when her hair cascaded down her shoulders once more.  “What did you do?  H-how…I’ve never-- ”  
  


“Give me a moment.  I need to memorise this moment for posterity.  I’m sure you understand.  Pansy Parkinson knew a Charm and Hermione Granger didn’t.  I would gladly die happy you realise?”  
  


“He’s not going to like this at all, Pansy.”  Hermione’s hands slightly trembled even as she fastened a single strand of pearls around her throat.  
  


“Tough, now tell me about this dress.  It cost a pretty Sickle, and from the state of your wardrobe, Theo isn’t nearly as accommodating as he could be.  Therefore, he knows the worth of the garment, and there’s a story here.”  Pansy’s eyes sparkled as she thrust a well-worn pair of ruby peep toe heels into Hermione’s hands.  
  


“It was a gift from a former friend and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”  Hermione clamped her shimmering rose lips closed and Pansy sighed.  
  


“Fine, but I’m not going to let this go.  Come on then, Theo’s already irritated with Astoria’s incessant chatter.  Why Draco wastes his time with that one is beyond me.”  Pansy adjusted the suggestive décolletage of her slinky royal blue dress and frowned at an imagined wrinkle.  
  


Pansy Parkinson pursed her red lips and dragged Hermione from her bedchamber.  She managed to keep the majority of her thoughts to herself, though it was difficult.  She wanted to be her regular snarky yet charming self, but Hermione was little more than a quivering house elf.  
  


If she hadn’t been on holiday with Oliver Wood, Pansy probably would have Disapparated with Hermione Granger in tow the moment she discovered the engagement.  She detested the fact Theo kept nearly his entire relationship with the Golden Girl quiet until it was too late.  She seethed in silent fury when she had discovered she had been out Slytherined by Theo fucking Nott.  It was a disgrace, and Pansy Parkinson wasn’t the sort of witch to stand for such a thing.  Aiding Hermione Granger was simply a bonus.  
  


“Finally.”  Ernie Macmillan grumbled into his port with a distinctly unHufflepuff scowl.  
  


“Hush up Hufflepuff.”  Pansy smiled so sweetly it was confusing when her eyes were filled with hatred.  
  


Theodore Nott gripped his crystal tumbler of firewhiskey in a practised sort of fist as his dark eyes roved over the form of his wife.  While he shagged her to establish power over her rather than attraction, he had to admit she was quite easy on the eyes.  He didn’t appreciate the appreciative murmurs upon her appearance, but it wouldn’t do to make such a fuss in mixed company.  
  


“You look lovely, dear.”  Theo’s sickly sweet croon drew more than a few concerned glances, yet when he simply embraced his wife and pecked her cheek, there was a collective sigh of relief.  
  


“Pansy did it.”  Hermione nervously chewed the corner of her lip and stared at the floor.  
  


“Well done, Pansy.  Curiosity begs me to ask, did you happen to discover the gentleman that gifted my wife this particular gem?  I’ve enquired for years and even with my--”  Theo paused for effect, “eclectic interrogation methods, she’s refused to say.”  
  


Pansy Parkinson dug her long red fingernails into Draco Malfoy’s forearm only to keep her itching palms from drawing her wand.  She flipped her long, nearly black hair over her shoulder and winked at Theo.  It wasn’t a conclusive answer, but it was enough to draw his attentions to her rather than focus on his wife.  
  


“Oh Theo, you know better than to seek answers from me.  Girl chats belong between us girls, don’t they?  Though, I must comment on Hermione’s lack of wardrobe.  I expected better really.  We should consider rectifying the situation immediately.  How does next Friday strike you?”  
  


Theo sucked in his cheeks and narrowed his eyes.  Pansy had painted him in a less than satisfactory light and in order to escape with his pride and reputation intact, he had no other choice than to nod slowly.  He was pleased to note, Hermione had enough sense to look to him for an answer, rather than to respond herself.  Theo always did love knocking the Gryffindor Princess off her pedestal.  
  


“I’m sure I could take a few hours of out of my busy day to escort my wife to the shops.”  
  


“Ugh, Theo that’s a terrible idea.  Let Pansy take her.  You know how women are, they could wander about for hours chatting about the latest fashions.  It’s the perfect time for us blokes to drink entirely too much firewhiskey.  Perhaps we’ll even go to the Gentlemen’s Club.  We haven’t done that in bloody ages.”  Blaise Zabini was quick to intercede and he easily schooled his features into distaste laced with excitement, which was a fantastic feat under the current circumstances.  
  


“Why not make a weekend of it?  Milan is lovely this time of year.”  Pansy sighed with longing.  “We could make a trip of it.  I know Daphne has been aching to browse this season’s fashions.”  She pointedly ignored Astoria, which did not go unnoticed.  
  


Astoria Greengrass stood near the potted plant in the corner and studied the dynamics of the situation.  There was an underlying message, even she knew that much.  The tensions were high as they always were when they dined at Theo’s.  She wasn’t particularly fond of Hermione Granger, but she wasn’t fond of any Gryffindors.  
  


She was the sort of witch that thrived with attention, and in this situation, the attention was definitely not on her.  It irked her beyond normal comprehension that a magicless Muggle deserved a weekend in Milan with the Pureblood elite.  It was a slap in the face when her older sister was mentioned and she wasn’t even gifted a cursory glance.  
  


“I for one think it’s a bit gauche to visit Milan when it isn’t fashion week.”  Astoria sniffed with disdain as she stepped from the shadows.  
  


“No one asked you, Tori.”  Draco glared at her in such a manner, the poor girl seemed to blend with the tapestries.  
  


“I suppose I’ll be forced to make due without my wife for an entire weekend.  Whatever shall I do with myself?”  Theo chuckled lightly and winked toward an apathetically silent Ernie.  
  


“That’s settled then.”  Pansy glowered at the blonde witch.  
  


She knew Astoria was yet another young disillusioned witch, seeking nothing more than ample riches, and prestige.  She was sorely mistaken if she believed Draco Malfoy would be yet another stepping stone in her rise to fame, especially if Pansy had anything to say about it.  While Pansy Parkinson did not harbour romantic feelings toward Draco any longer, it did not mean she no longer cared for him.  
  


He would always be important to her.  She knew the secrets of his childhood.  She knew how Theo’s actions affected him and she had vowed to aid Hermione Granger.  Pansy didn’t quite understand why someone hadn’t simply Disapparated with the magicless witch, but Draco had immediately quashed the idea.  She was determined to discover the truth of the matter, including why Draco Malfoy spent half the evening with his attentions riveted to Hermione rather than his date.  
  


“Theo is never going to agree if he catches you staring at her like that.”  Pansy managed to drag Draco into the garden after dinner with a desperate plea for a breath of fresh air.  
  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Draco tossed back the dregs of his firewhiskey without sparing her a glance.  
  


“You’re a terrible liar, you always have been.  It seems you’ve that much in common with your little Muggleborn.”  Pansy strolled along the carefully constructed path until she was nearly hidden from view by the impressive topiaries.  
  


“Pansy,”  Draco sighed.  
  


“No need to deny it.  I might be unpleasant but that doesn’t mean I’m not intelligent.  It’s alright, she looks at you much the same.”  Pansy chanced a quick peek at Draco over her shoulder and smirked with pleasure to note the flicker of surprise in his telling grey eyes.  
  


“Is that so?”  Ernie Macmillan was an ornamental sort of fixture at the Nott home and as such, his presence was usually overlooked as it was that evening.  
  


“The damage is done, so I guess I’ll be leaving.”  Pansy waved and stepped back inside.  
  


Draco turned to follow, yet Ernie grasped his forearm lightly.  The two intrinsically different wizards studied each other in the moonlight, each waiting for the other to break the silence.  Draco, however, had much more experience in subterfuge than the demure Hufflepuff and was content to stare him down.  Ernie cleared his throat and the moment was broken.  
  


“I’m waiting, Malfoy.”  Ernie’s sneer was lacking in the heartfelt derision he felt and Draco rolled his eyes.  
  


“Keep waiting, Macmillan.  In fact, why don’t you skulk away and wait in Nott’s bedchamber.  I’m sure Theo appreciates having you ready and waiting.  It’s how he preferred his bugger buddies in school.”  
  


“You’re foul, Malfoy.”  
  


“Yes, I’ve heard that before.”  Draco shrugged, completely nonplussed.  
  


“I didn’t come out here to argue with you.  Are you always such an insufferable bastard?!”  Ernie was nearly shouting and his sloppy dark blond hair fell into his eyes.  
  


“Probably.  What the fuck do you want, Macmillan?”  Draco wrenched his arm from Ernie’s floundering grasp with a snarl.  
  


“It’s no secret I’ve coveted Theo for bloody years.  Then he goes and marries that…”  Ernie swallowed hard as Draco had thrust his wand into Ernie’s throat, “that magicless Gryffindor.  I’d been waiting for him for years, but do you think that mattered a bit?  Of course, it didn’t.  He was more concerned with maintaining his image and accumulating wealth.”  Ernie hesitantly stepped forward and swallowed lightly.  “I remember your friendship with Granger.  I haven’t…told Theo, but if the opportunity arises--”  
  


“And now I’m forced to repeat myself.  What do you  _ want _ , Macmillan?”  Draco’s  patience was at its limit and while he knew Theo wouldn’t appreciate an Ernie shaped hole in his French doors, it would make Draco feel infinitely better.  
  


“I want Theo,”  Ernie scoffed.  “I want all of Theo without the complication of a useless little wife.  He barely tolerates her.  He plans to force an heir on her and after that?  Well, even you would be sickened, Malfoy.  I know you care about her and I’m not insinuating impropriety, so you can stop scowling at me.  It could have been you if you hadn’t given up on her.  Get her the fuck away from Theo, but you can never tell Theo we spoke of this.  I’d rather not be on the receiving end of his punishments.”  Ernie sniffed and shuddered, while Draco felt quickly sickened.  
  


“How the fuck did you wind up in Hufflepuff?”  
  


“I asked, of course.  I knew I fancied blokes from a very young age, and Hufflepuff would be the only…accommodating and accepting House.  The Sorting Hat was very understanding.  Now, I simply aim to keep what is mine.”  Ernie strolled off into the garden and Draco did not follow him.  
  


He slipped through the glass doors quietly and immediately sought out Pansy.  She was engrossed in a seemingly boring conversation with Astoria, for which he was thankful.  He knew it would never last and vowed to end things with the poor girl before she did something ridiculous like get attached.  Astoria Greengrass might be the perfect Pureblood witch and his parents might have been thoroughly pleased with her, but Draco desperately craved more.  
  


Astoria attempted to catch his eye, but it was easier to pretend he hadn’t seen her.  He was much more focused on the muted disagreement between Theo and Hermione.  His eyes lingered on her exposed legs for a moment too long as Astoria’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  Draco sidled along the wall and paused.  
  


“No.  I told you…”  
  


“You’re being unreasonable, dear.”  
  


“You know I hate it when you call me that.”  
  


“Surely you weren’t speaking to me in such a manner.  It seems you’ve forgotten who's in control here.  Shall we have a little reminder session after our guests leave?”  
  


“You’re being unreasonable, Theo.  I give up.  If you want to cast Unforgivables at me, go ahead.  I’m not willingly shagging any of your friends, and frankly, it makes you a bit of a bastard to even suggest something like that.”  
  


Draco caught Theo’s fist before he struck and tucked it behind his back.  Hermione took advantage of the situation and moved across the room to replenish her wine glass and perhaps distract herself with aimless conversation.  Draco squeezed Theo’s fist and pushed him none too lightly toward the kitchen.  
  


“What the fuck, Theo?”  Draco shoved his mate and Silenced the room with an easy flick of his wand.  
  


“I wish you hadn’t seen that.  She’s usually much more agreeable.  I thoroughly enjoy needling her and it went a bit too far.”  Theo scratched the back of his neck and leant over the sink basin.  
  


“If you don’t want her, let her go.  This isn’t healthy for either of you.”  Draco shook his head in frustration.  
  


“Please, she’s the Golden Girl, besides the fact it would be easier to kill her than to divorce her.”  Theo laughed and Draco’s blood ran cold.


	4. Session 57

**Session 57  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

_ I’d like to try something new today, Ms Granger.  
  
_

I don’t much like the sound of that.  
  


_ Tell me about the first time.  
  
_

You’ll have to be more specific Ms Farley.  The first time what?  The first time I had sex?  The first time my husband and I had sex?  The first time he struck me?  I’m going to require details in order to accurately answer your question.  
  


_ Patient is obstinate, as is expected.  I offer carte blanche, Ms Granger.  Pick a first and share it with me.  
  
_

What purpose is this going to serve?  I feel as though you’re determined to delve into my deepest darkest moments of shame, drag them to the surface, and study them for your own amusement.  I can’t  claim I’m a fan of such antics.  
  


_ This isn’t for me.  This is for you.  In order to move toward your future, you must confront your past.  
  
_

Fine, I’ll play along.  Let’s see.  I really don’t understand all the fuss about sex, really.  I mean, it’s not this mind-blowing experience that must be repeated incessantly, but people act as though it is the end all save all sort of nonsense.  Ridiculous if you ask me.  It was during the War if you must know.  It wasn’t based on romantic love or even attraction.  It was comfort and need, and that’s that.  
  


_ Interesting.  Are you always so…clinical in your assessments?  
  
_

Clinical?  It was awkward, uncomfortable, and best forgotten.  In fact, we’ve never spoken about it.  It’s our little secret I suppose.  I mean, if it were discovered, I suppose the ramifications would be…less than desirable.  
  


_ Would you care to tell me why?  
  
_

It was a dark time.  Tensions were high.  I’m sure there were more than a few secrets withheld for the sake of the greater good and that’s how Harry and I compartmentalized it, that’s all there is to it.  It happened.  We were downtrodden and nearly beaten.  Ron had…fucked off and it was just us.  It never happened again, and we swore we’d never speak of it.  
  


_ And yet you’ve shared this intimate experience with me…  
  
_

You asked!  
  


_ I’m simply pointing out the simple fact that as much as you wish to deny it, you trust me.  
  
_

I was fairly certain that was the point of seeking therapy was to build trust and share one's deepest and darkest memories in order to aid them.  If that’s the case, then am I considered cured?  
  


_ Patient is being particularly cheeky.  
  
_

Healer Farley hasn’t the slightest hint of a sense of humour.  Two can play this game you realise?  Shall I continue or shall we call it a day?  
  


_ By all means, Hermione.  
  
_

It’s  always Hermione when you want something and Ms Granger when you’re treading carefully or irritated with me.  I find that quite interesting.  Alright, onward we go.  My husband was incredibly sweet in the beginning.  Everything was wonderful, and I should have been wary, but I needed something good after so much…mayhem.  He walked me to classes.  He listened when I spoke and he never rolled his eyes when I rambled.  I can’t begin to tell you how much that meant to me.  I had…lost my first new friend because I chose to date my husband, and he was there to comfort me.  
  


I just…I desperately needed something good and I clung to him as though he were some sort of life raft, but he wasn’t.  I refused to sleep with him until we were married.  I can’t even remember why now, it seems so silly.  
  


_ Was it everything you believed it would be?  
  
_

I’d laugh, but it would be nothing short of pathetic, as was my wedding night.  I’m sure you can understand why I can’t begin to fathom the obsession with sexual relations.  In fact, I’m not sure I can recall a singular pleasing moment.  Wait!  I was wrong.  I was thoroughly pleased when it was over.  
  


_ Is it safe to assume your husband doesn’t excite you?  
  
_

I’ve read about excitement.  I’ve heard of it, but as for actually experiencing it?  No, I can’t say I have.  I’ve also heard talk of fireworks and orgasms, but those seem to be elusive as well.  Before you even ask Gemma, I am well aware of what an orgasm is, I’ve simply never experienced one…with someone else.  Why are you looking at me like that?  I didn’t step on your pet toad.  Don’t do that.  Don’t…fucking pity me.  
  


_ Your husband…  
  
_

Do not speak to me of him.  He was a good man once.  He was…everything I thought I always wanted until I had it.  I’m trapped now, I know that.  I’ll figure it out.  I always do.  Maybe one day…I-  
  


_ Hermione…do you love him?  Alright, I apologise.  Did you love him?  Was there a time when…?  
  
_

What does it matter now?!  It’s too late you see.  I can’t tell anyone what’s happened.  They’ll look at me the way you look at me, and I can’t bear it.  It’s  my fault.  I made…questionable decisions, and now I’m forced to live with them.  I-I thought I did, once.  I call it the ‘before’.  In the before, I was nearly certain I loved him.  What is love anyway?  It’s not as if it's completely definable.  It’s a feeling, and I loved the way he looked at me.  I loved things about him, but what else is there, Gemma?  Can you tell me?  
  


_ Hermione…it’s really not my place to, but I’ll try.  You’re right.  Love is indefinable.  It’s more than a feeling.  It’s more than anything you’ve ever imagined.  It’s the quickening of your heart when they’re near.  It’s being unable to catch a full breath just because they’ve glanced in your direction.  It’s daydreams and imaginings.  It’s smiling for absolutely no reason, other than the fact they’ve flitted across your mind.  It’s the little things, but mostly it’s feeling whole.  
  
_

I’m never going to have that.  
  


* * *

 

“I never should have agreed to that little trip,”  Theo’s chiselled jaw clenched and his teeth ground together.  
  


Draco Malfoy had enough sense to remain silent.  He didn’t trust the man any longer and he attempted to recall a time when they had been close.  It was a vague memory, a bit hazy really, but it did exist in the days of nappies.  
  


“She’s been fucking unbearable.  She’s pushing her limits, Malfoy.  You wouldn’t believe her audacity.  Apparently,”  Theo angrily poured a tumbler of firewhiskey and tossed it back like water, “Pansy put ideas in her head.  It isn’t enough that I’ve allowed her that research position.  For the love of the gods Malfoy, when are you going to put that insufferable little wretch to work?”  
  


Draco smirked as he stared at the remnants of his firewhiskey and carefully contemplated the question.  He wasn’t a fool.  He was never truly a fool.  He was a young man of questionable morals and loyalties, but never a fool.  
  


He knew Theo Nott had demanded Hermione work from home for a very Slytherin reason.  Theo thrived on control over all things and his wife was his favourite toy.  Draco pretended and pretended quite well mind you, that he wasn’t aware of the various Eavesdropping Charms scattered around Theo’s family home.  He also knew the Enchanted Mirror within the study was a new acquisition.  
  


“I told you, Theo.  There was an accident in the facility.  Come January everything will be up to my standards.  I’ve procured her a lovely little research library, just off the Potions Lab and near my own offices in order to keep an eye on her,”  Draco’s apathetic façade slid quickly into place as Theo scowled at him.   “You can’t expect me to get a bit of work done if I’ve constantly got to Floo here in order to discuss the progression of advancements with my assistant.”  
  


“I hate it when you’re right,”  Theo unenthusiastically slumped into an armchair and sighed against the Italian leather.  “She’s driving me mad.  I quite liked the idea of keeping an eye on her, but I need my freedom.  I also…require a favour.”  
  


Draco closed his eyes and leant his head back on the armchair.  He knew what was coming.  He knew it had been coming for weeks, and as such, he had avidly avoided the Notts whenever possible.  He had unwillingly heard the whispers and he definitely wasn’t immune to Pansy’s insinuations.  
  


“I’m not fucking your wife, Nott,”  Draco drained the last dregs of his firewhiskey and slammed the crystal tumbler on the stone side table.  
  


Theo offered a half shrug, but it was his knowing slip of a smile that grated on Draco’s frazzled nerves.  He knew that expression and knew it well.  Theo wasn’t above manipulation and since the conclusion of the War, he knew Draco’s affinity for embracing his distasteful…Hufflepuff qualities.  To put it simply, Draco Malfoy cared and Theo Nott wasn’t above using such weaknesses.  
  


“Hmm, well I suppose I could petition Flint.  He’s always sniffing around.  I can’t imagine she’d like that, which makes it all the better really.  I do so long to hear her screams,”  Theo sighed happily as he watched the angry tic in Draco’s cheek jump erratically.  
  


“You’re such a bastard,”  Draco spat.  
  


“Yes, yes I am, but the question begs to be asked, Draco.  Why do you care?”  Theo casually propped his feet onto the polished dark wood coffee table and waited.  
  


“It’s common decency, Nott,”  Draco’s lips clamped together and Theo knew he wouldn’t receive any further answers.  “Why me?”  
  


“Come now, Draco, must we discuss all that nastiness?  I for one don’t particularly enjoy reminding you of your sins,”  Theo’s calculating smile set Draco’s teeth on edge and his fingers twitched with the ache to draw his wand.  
  


“You’re just as culpable as I am, Nott,”  Draco snarled, but Theo could smell the fear in the air.  
  


“I don’t believe for a single moment the Ministry will believe that to be true.  After all, I’m not the Death Eater that performed an Unforgivable after the conclusion of the Final Battle,”  Theo tapped his chin thoughtfully.  “No, I do believe that was you.  Pity really, I can’t imagine the new accommodations at Azkaban have improved overly much.”  
  


“You swore to never speak of it, Nott.  I remember when a wizard’s word actually meant something,”  Draco spat and his teeth gnashed together until his jaw ached.  
  


“Hmm yes, I also recall when the brightest witch of the age was actually a witch.  Things change Draco and it would do you well to remember such things.”  
  


Theo cocked his head to the side and listened to the sounds of Astoria chattering in the kitchen.  He couldn’t discern the words, but he knew Hermione was offering nothing more than one word answers, which he considered quite rude.  She would have to be properly punished for such antics.  
  


“Tori!”  Theo shouted and startled Draco.  
  


The tittering blonde witch practically bounced into the library with sparkles in her eyes, but the solemnness in the air caused her to reevaluate the situation.  She straightened her back and stepped forward meekly with a small demure smile.  Astoria Greengrass knew how to play the games of Purebloods and it would have been impressive to someone else.  
  


“Hermione and I were just conversing while your elves finished preparing tea,”  Astoria knew better than to sit before the invitation was extended and she shifted her weight between her feet impatiently.  
  


“Tori, it has come to my attention that there are some pressing matters Draco and I need to attend to.  I’m sure you understand,”  Theo crooned.  “It seems we’ll be unable to accommodate you.  Sullivan will escort you home.”  
  


“An elf?  You’re going to have your fucking elf escort me?  That’s absolutely ridiculous.  I’m not one of your slags.  I’m a respectable witch and-”  
  


“Sullivan!”  Theo easily bellowed over Astoria’s raised voice as he hadn’t the slightest interest in listening to her tantrum.  
  


“My father will hear about this,”  Astoria hissed.  She wrenched her delicate hand from the tentative grip of the house elf.  
  


“There really isn’t an original bone in your little Pureblood body is there?”  Theo snickered behind his bony long fingered hand and glanced at Draco.  “Draco’s been using that bit since we were on training brooms.”  
  


Draco studied Astoria carefully.  She was aesthetically pleasing to the eye that much was obvious.  His father was quite fond of the woman, but his mother barely tolerated the girl.  He went through the motions of invitations to outings and escorting her to garden parties, but he wasn’t invested in her well-being.  The idea of actually marrying her made his stomach turn.  
  


“Astoria, it’s over,”  Draco turned away from her without another thought.  
  


Theo nodded to his dedicated house elf and sighed with satisfaction when the annoying bint was Apparated home.  He enjoyed the way Draco squirmed in discomfort.  He had always prided himself on his ability to have the upper hand in nearly every scenario.  He had married the Golden Girl despite knowing his mate’s insignificant curiosity in the girl.    
  


Theo knew he still harboured animosity toward the man.  The simple fact The Dark Lord had included Draco Malfoy into the Inner Circle while Theo had languished amongst the dregs of Death Eaters was not a small matter.  It was a source of contention between them and yet they managed an amicable relationship despite their rocky past.  
  


“You really haven’t changed much, have you?”  Theo scoffed with a small trace of amusement.  
  


“Look Nott, I know you’ve got something sordid planned and I might be a bastard, but I’ve never been one to cavort with another wizard’s wife.  I am not some charlatan and—“  
  


Theo held up his hand with an easy wave and enjoyed the way Draco Malfoy not only choked on his words but was beneath his thumb.  He had the Malfoy Heir in the palm of his hand and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  It was a delicious sensation and he revelled in it.  
  


“Hermione,”  Theo’s sickly sweet voice turned Draco’s stomach.  
  


Draco’s grey eyes stared at the door and he swallowed hard when the familiar brunette nervously stepped into the room.  He watched the way she flinched as she crossed the threshold and cursed Theo and his family’s enchantments.  He wasn’t naïve in the old ways and he knew better than most how the Pureblood wards detested those with what was considered dirty blood.  If any witch fit into that category, it would be Hermione Granger.  
  


“The least you could have done was alter the wards, wanker,”  Draco wished for another libel draught of firewhiskey, but he dared not move.  
  


“I lessened them,”  Theo shrugged.  “It’s more than what my father would have done.”  
  


Theo snapped his fingers and Hermione surged forward as if her feet moved according to his whims rather than her wishes.  Draco wondered how much of that was true and sighed.  In retrospect, it was a terrible idea to trust Theo, yet he knew he hadn’t a choice.  He wouldn’t have changed his actions if given the chance, however, his current circumstances were less than desirable.  
  


“I’m not doing this now,”  Draco whispered.  
  


“You don’t need to do anything, mate.”  Theo walked a slow circle around his wife and inspected her outfit with a critical eye.

  
“Wh-what’s going on?”  Hermione’s voice shook and she wished she were wearing slacks in order to camouflage the knocking of her knees.  
  


“You’re wearing one of those little shifts you procured on that ridiculous holiday with Pansy, aren’t you?”  Theo lightly fingered the silver ribbon that kept her breasts from being on display with a calculated glare.  
  


“Yes, it adhered to the rules,”  Hermione bit her lip and her large brown eyes flitted toward Draco before they settled on Theo’s shiny black loafers.  
  


“No issue there, darling.  Draco looks a bit lonely, go and sit on his lap,”  Theo casually refilled Draco’s tumbler and had the gall to wink at the man.  
  


Draco remained as still as a statue.  Even the ice in his tumbler refused to float along the slick amber liquid and clash into the side.  He held his breath in order to keep the angry hiss at bay and Hermione swallowed audibly.  
  


“I don’t think he would appreciate such overtures, Theo,”  Hermione’s demure smile made Draco’s stomach flip with revulsion.  
  


“I don’t recall asking you to think.”  
  


The threat in the air was clear and Hermione dutifully approached Draco.  She appreciated the way he uncrossed his legs and left his arms lazily draping over the sides of the armchair.  She inhaled deeply through her nose and gingerly sat on the edge of Draco Malfoy’s knees.  
  


“You’ve made your point, Nott.  We both know you hold all the power.  There’s no need to rub our noses in it,”  Draco winced and he imagined she wasn’t particularly comfortable either.  
  


“She’s my wife, Malfoy.  I’ll do with her what I see fit.  My delightful father’s demise allowed me the use of the Old Magicks.  She isn’t just my wife.  She’s my property.  I own her.  She’ll do whatever the fuck I tell her to do or she’ll suffer the consequences and there’s nothing anyone can do about it,”  Theo sneered nastily and Hermione knew he ached for brutality.  “Untie your dress.”  
  


“No,”  Hermione leapt from her seated position and spun on her heel.  “I don’t care what you do to me.  I’ve had enough of your perversions.”  She nearly made it to the door when Theo struck.  
  


“Expelliarmus.  Expoximise.  Imperio.”  
  


Theodore Nott’s wand work was exceedingly impressive.  He shoved Draco’s wand into the inner pocket of his blazer.  He enjoyed watching his pseudo friend attempt to free himself while Hermione swayed gently in her heels.  He felt powerful, but most of all, he was in control.  
  


“Hermione,”  Theo crooned, “go, and straddle Draco’s lap.”  
  


Draco’s grey eyes widened with horror as he realised his predicament completely.  Theo had been swift, even Draco had to admit that.  He was currently wandless and fused to the leather armchair.  He hated the way Hermione swayed toward him with dead brown eyes.  She wasn’t supposed to look like that.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  
  


Hermione had learned it was pointless to struggle against Theo’s Imperius Curse.  Without the aid of magic, she hadn’t the strength.  She was trapped within the confines of her own body as it bent to Theo’s every sordid whim.  She felt her dress slide up her thighs when she climbed into Draco’s lap and was thankful his eyes remained on hers.  
  


She didn’t know why her husband was blackmailing Draco Malfoy, but there was something comforting in knowing she wasn’t alone in Theo’s game of manipulation.  She knew what was coming next.  It was humiliating, but Hermione was nearly certain nothing could be worse than having Ernie present.  Theo had a tendency to entertain the debaser thoughts when his lover was in attendance.  
  


“Nott, don’t do this,”  Draco begged as he shook his head.  
  


“Unbutton his shirt, place your hands on his chest, and open your mouth,”  Theo ignored Draco’s pleas and carefully removed the cork of a volatile Potion.  
  


It had taken him ages to get it smuggled into the country, but as he quickly learned, galleons make the world go ‘round.  Theo gently swirled the bright purple concoction and took a moment to appreciate the long lines of Hermione’s neck.  She was attractive, for a woman.  
  


“What are you doing?  What is that?”  Draco’s breaths were harsh and it was difficult to keep his head clear when Hermione Granger’s fingers were stroking his exposed chest.  
  


“This is Fervor,”  Theo smiled, his white teeth flashing as he gently cupped Hermione’s chin.  “It’s illegal as far as Lust Potions are concerned, but it’s worth the smuggling charges.  It doesn’t just create a faux sense of Lust, no, that would be too easy.  It’s also secreted through the pores.  Give it time Draco, and you’ll be effected as well.”  
  


“I’ve heard of that.  It isn’t simply a Lust Potion Nott, it’s fused with Darkest Desires, which the Ministry fucking banned at the conclusion of the War.  They nearly lost their mind when a shipment got spilt in the atrium and it was mayhem!”  Draco grasped Hermione’s hands to keep them still, but he could see from the glaze in her eyes she was barely cognizant.  
  


“There’s no need to fret, Malfoy.  She’ll offer you a delightful time and after a bit, you won’t even mind.  I’m off now, Ernie is due to Floo directly to my bedroom, and we’d rather like to watch the show.  You were right about that mirror,”  Theo winked and Draco watched completely slack jawed as he was left alone with a panting Hermione Granger.  
  


Hermione felt Theo release the Imperius Curse, but it didn’t change much if anything.  Her body had a mind of its own.  Her breasts ached as they chaffed against the silk of her dress, which logically she knew was impossible, but her logic was definitely flawed.  She vaguely wondered if the sensation of flying high over the clouds and watching one’s body go through the motions was completely normal, but soon enough, she no longer cared.  
  


It was feeling and moving all at once.  It was harsh fingers that dug into her thighs as her hair grazed against her bare waist.  It was warm breaths mingling together and sweat soaked chests meeting in the middle.  It was chasing the ever-elusive high, constantly moving forward, stretching, reaching, and pining of the deepest sense, with his whispered words in her ear.  
  


“Granger, hang on, you can do that for me, can’t you?  Oh gods, you can’t move like that.  Please stop.  You don’t want to do this.  No, no shit.  Don’t rip your dress off, fuck.”  
  


Draco’s mumbled words were lost in the sea of Hermione’s hair and the supple skin of her throat.  Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t refrain from touching her skin.  The slick sheen of sweat seeped into his fingertips and his thoughts grew fuzzy.  
  


He knew it was the Fervor.  He knew he needed to concentrate.  He knew he needed to channel his abilities and free himself from the armchair.  He knew he needed to retrieve Granger’s dress and drag it over her head because her tantalizing breasts were begging for attention.  The little circular motion of her hips was going to drive him insane and then she bit him.  
  


Draco was no longer aware of where he ended and she began, nor did he care.  She felt amazing.  He might have entertained a fantasy or two over the years, but nothing compared to actually having her in his arms.  It defied nature really, but attempting to quantify any of it was impossible.  
  


“More.”  
  


He heard her chanting the word until it segued into a gentle hum and he couldn’t deny her, to deny her would be to deny himself.  Draco Malfoy was never the sort of wizard to deny himself anything and he wasn’t about to start.  It might have been the healthy dose of Fervor.  It might have been some underlying subconscious desire that had plagued him for longer than he’d wish to admit.  It could have been anything.  
  


Hermione ground in his lap and in an act of frustration reached into his slacks.  Draco’s strangled moan was nothing more than an irritating whisper in her ear.  She felt his large hands on her breasts, but that’s not where she wanted them.  Hermione leant forward and rose onto her knees.  
  


Draco was forced to move his hands as his face was now nestled between the alluring space of skin between the breasts he was quite fond of molesting.  He heard the tear of fabric, yet it didn’t register immediately.  It was her clammy hand gripping his aching cock that startled him the most.  
  


“Fuck, Granger, no, I can’t.  You can’t.  We can’t.  For the love of –“  Draco choked as she writhed against him.  
  


He wanted to shag her.  He wanted to sink into her and forget everything else existed, but he didn’t.  He couldn’t.  Even in a Potion induced haze, there were still some lines Draco Malfoy could not cross.  
  


Hermione however, had no such qualms.  She shivered against him and dragged his hand between her thighs.  Her head dropped to his shoulder and her teeth sunk into the sore flesh just beneath his ear.  She had gnawed it numerous times and he had no complaints.  
  


“I need it.  Give it to me.”  Hermione pleaded.  Draco shook his head, but his fingertips betrayed him.  
  


The feelings of shame and euphoria crashed together in a cacophony that reverberated so loudly in his ears, Draco was incapable of focusing on anything other than the sounds of her pleased moans.  Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and he welcomed the pain.  
  


“This isn’t you,”  Draco muttered angrily as his fingers worked furiously between her slick thighs.

There were more words.  He swore there were more words he wanted to say, to shout, to scream, but he didn’t.  Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the dishevelled brunette on his lap.  Her lips pinks were parted.  Her lovely brown eyes were squeezed shut tight.  Her desperate little pants were enough to finish him.  
  


He felt her muscles contract tightly and then she was falling forward.  Her head smacked into his collarbone as the tension seeped from her limbs.  He was unable to contain himself any longer and his winced as he spilt between their bodies, just before everything went black.  
  


* * *

 

Hermione awoke in her darkened bedroom with the piercing, stabbing, pounding pain that requisitioned her entire body.  She was incapable of quick movements and even the inadvertent groan that escaped her lips caused her agony.  The sheet covering her naked body was cool to the touch and for a scant moment, Hermione was thankful Theo had used a Cooling Charm.  
  


“Miss, water and dry toast for your pleasure,”  Sullivan the uppity house elf gently laid the silver tray on her bedside table and had enough sense not to Disapparate.  
  


“Gods, I hate him,”  Hermione whimpered as she gratefully sipped the freezing water while tears littered her cheeks.  
  


Across the corridor, Draco Malfoy was subjected to the same treatments.  He, of course, vomited in the bin beside the guest bed and dreamt of ways to maim Theodore Nott.  Despite the whirlwind of knives insistently piercing his eyeballs, Draco tossed back the water with a wince.  He wished it were tea and vowed to procure a piping hot cup the moment he snuck from the Nott home.  
  


Draco grappled with his wrinkled clothes and curled his lip at the dried mess stuck to his thighs.  With an angry snarl, he discovered his wand on the bedside table and vanished the mess.  Another simple Charm and his clothing was pristine, just the way he preferred.  
  


“Fuck so much of this,”  Draco sneered.  
  


He begrudgingly admitted he was grateful the guest quarters had a personal Floo.  He didn’t tarry a moment longer than necessary.  Draco’s head spun as he traversed the Floo Network and he landed in an unceremonious, undignified heap.  
  


“Malfoy?  What the hell?”  Harry Potter wiped his round spectacles on his white undershirt and shook his head.  “Why are you here?”  
  


Draco lifted his head and distinctly saw two Harry Potter’s waving their arms and shouting at him.  He had to be dreaming.  Life couldn’t possibly be quite that cruel as to torture him with two Harry Potters.  
  


“Fervor.  Granger.”  
  


Harry Potter yanked on his unruly dark hair as Draco Malfoy’s words seeped into his brain.  The sinking feeling in his chest and the nausea made his skin feel hot.  It was a simple matter to stand still and allow his thought processes to make sense of the minuscule information he was given.  
  


“I need more than that, Malfoy,”  Harry finally squatted beside the weakened blond wizard and touched the man’s shoulder.  
  


“Can’t remember it all, Potter.  Nott dosed us.  I might have…I might have shagged her,”  Draco Malfoy mumbled just before his head crashed to the floor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose this is the part where I warn you it gets slightly darker before it gets better? Something along those lines at any rate. Consider yourself warned and whatnot.


	5. Session 62

**Session 62  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

_ Patient is late.  She’s never late.  She prides herself on her punctuality.  
  
_

_ I should have intervened last session.  I knew she was headed toward a seriously depressive state.  The dark bruises on her throat were obvious signs of abuse.  
  
_

_ The Wizengamot might not give a rat’s arse about domestic issues, but perhaps the Muggles would be willing to provide her with some options?  I don’t know.  I’m not particularly well versed in such things and it’s not as though I can inquire of the Ministry.  
  
_

Do you always talk to yourself when your patients are late?  
  


_ Oh, thank gods.  I mean, it’s lovely to see you, Ms Granger.  Please, sit.  Would you like a cup of tea?  Can I take your overcoat?  
  
_

I don’t like it when you’re nice.  It reminds me of my husband.  He has a horrible habit of being overly sweet before he does something awful to me.  
  


_ What happened?  From the looks of things, you’re struggling to remain upright.  Let me just get you a cuppa.  
  
_

Don’t do that.  Stop it.  I’m not paying you to be nice to me.  Your job is to sit there and listen to me complain about my dismal life.  Of course, I’m having difficulty!  
  


_ Hermione—  
  
_

Theo dosed me.  It wasn’t the first time.  It probably won’t be the last time.  You see, he is really enjoying his Enchanted Mirror.  He utilises the Imperius Curse and forces me to do all sorts of delightful things for his pleasure.  I can’t fight back.  It’s impossible without magic, I’m sure you understand.  
  


The next morning, I shouted at him once I recovered.  It’s the worst feeling in the world to be cognizant after being illegally drugged.  Everything is blurry.  It’s nearly impossible to discern what actually happened and what was a side effect of the Potion.

_  
I’m going to assume he punished you for your audacity.  I do believe I’d like to meet your husband.  
  
_

Punished me, yes I suppose you could say that.  I mean according to the Wizarding World I am his property to do with as he sees fit.  I should have been smarter.  I thought I read the document in its entirety, but he handed me a page or so at the end.  I didn’t care any longer and I just wanted it over and done.  
  


_ Hermione, drink the bloody tea.  
  
_

You’re not being particularly professional today, Gemma.  I really need you to remain professional.  I can’t bear the pity.  I can’t.  Y-you’re a Healer of sorts, why can’t you do anything?  I don’t understand.  
  


_ Patient is overwhelmed and has succumbed to tears.  
  
_

There, that, yes, I needed that, but you didn’t answer my question.  Don’t you dare tell me these sessions are about me.  I already know that.  I obviously can’t do this by myself.  I can’t get out.  I can’t break free.  Why can’t you help me?  
  


_ Ms Granger, I do believe we’re alike in some ways.  While you have lost your magic through an unforeseen accident, I am unable to utilise mine.  My family was sympathetic to the Dark Lord.  My father made questionable choices and if has fallen on me to pay for them.  Five years, before you ask.  That’s how long I shall be without the use of magic.  
  
_

At least you have an end in sight.  I don’t know if there’s a cure for the curse.  I don’t even know if it was a curse and I detest not knowing everything.  My husband refuses to allow me entry into his personal library and I bloody well know there are books on the subject.  
  


_ When do you begin your employment?  Did you tell me where you’d be working?  
  
_

If you’ve forgotten, I’m not going to remind you.  Suffice it to say come next week, I’ll be a research assistant.  Perhaps I can ask my supervisor for access to his library.  There’s an idea!  I mean, I don’t have high hopes of breaking the confines of my marriage, but I feel as though everything would be more manageable if I had my magic.  
  


_ I find the opposite to be true in my situation.  I was forced to end a budding relationship due to my magical restrictions and I find I’m better for it.  Of course, the budding relationship occurred during the midst of my engagement, but that’s neither here nor there.  
  
_

You told me something personal!  You cheated.  I can’t believe it.  I mean I don’t care one way or the other that you cheated.  Look at my situation.  I’ve no room to judge.  My husband cheats on me regularly and I’m thankful for it.  
  


_ I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you be so flippant.  Why don’t you tell me about the Potion?  
  
_

And she’s back to business.  What else is there to tell?  I’ve told you before he calls it Fervor.  It’s illegal.  It’s a Lust Potion imbued with Deepest Desires or some sort of nonsense.  He used the Imperius to force me to do certain things and then he forced it down my throat.  He watched as I, as I…I don’t wish to speak about it anymore.  
  


_ You’ve said that every session for the past five weeks at least.  You can’t keep avoiding the unpleasant.  
  
_

Why not?  What exactly is going to happen if I face the debauchery in my life?  Am I going to feel better about it?  I highly doubt it.  Instead, I do believe I’ll feel unequivocal shame.  I am nothing more than a pawn.  I don’t know why he married me.  I don’t know why he offers me up to his mates as though I were nothing more than the latest issue of Witch Weekly.  I don’t know why he finds such perverse pleasure in degrading me.  I don’t know why his friends keep coming around.  I surely wouldn’t if I had a choice in the matter, and yet they do.  Perhaps they’re no better than he is and yet—  
  


_ And yet your husband is a manipulative wizard and it goes to reason that he’s wielding his power secretively.  Perhaps they’re no different than you.  Perhaps they are simply pawns in his convoluted game and they’re powerless as well.  
  
_

I find that hard to believe.  They’re quite formidable on their own.  Unless they were afraid of my husband, which is laughable,  my husband is only terrifying when it comes to intimidating women.  Though, I must say his last guest was exceedingly nervous.  
  


_ How did that make you feel?  
  
_

Must you with that nonsense?  I think I felt relieved that he wasn’t enjoying himself.  He fought against the Potion and I appreciated that more than I can say.  Of course, the next time he popped over he pretended I didn’t exist and the fact he’s dating someone new is mind-boggling.  
  


_ Are you jealous?  
  
_

Jealous?  Don’t be absurd.  I’m married.  He’s a veritable playboy.  Neither of us was in our right minds, therefore, there isn’t a need to pretend it was something it definitely wasn’t.  
  


_ You didn’t answer the question.  In fact, you didn’t tell me his name either.  You’ve an impressive number of secrets.  
  
_

This tea is cold.  I’m going home.  
  


* * *

 

Draco Malfoy walked the length of the Manor with his brows pinched together.  His mother listened to his clipped steps and wondered when he would tire.  She snapped her fingers and one of the many Malfoy elves dutifully followed the heir to shine the marble.  
  


Narcissa eavesdropped on her son’s muted whispers with a perfectly arched eyebrow and a firm set to her lips.  She didn’t pretend she approved of his behaviours.  It was unbecoming of a Malfoy to be so obviously distraught.  
  


“Draco,”  Narcissa called.  
  


“Mother, not now.  I can’t do this with you now,”  Draco muttered and immediately spun on his heel to continue his pacing.  
  


Narcissa managed to remain silent until her son’s next pass.  It was only then that she stood in his path and placed her hands on his shoulders.  He was stiff and agitated, but he remained silent.  
  


“Tell me,”  she implored.  
  


“You won’t understand.  You can’t understand,”  Draco shook his head violently and his blond hair fell into his eyes.  “She’s all over me.  I can smell her.  She’s still on my skin and I’ve bathed.  I can’t get rid of it.”  
  


Narcissa’s upper lip twitched with revulsion as it was natural for her thoughts to wander toward Draco’s latest disaster.  The girl was timid to be sure, but it was her red hair that Narcissa found most disconcerting.  The idea of being the grandmother to red-haired grandchildren was nauseating at best.  
  


“I was under the impression you just began courting the girl, Draco.  Surely you can’t be this out of sorts so soon?”  Narcissa resisted the urge to push her son’s hair off his forehead and waited.  
  


“Courting?  Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  


Draco eased himself out of his mother’s gentle hold and inhaled sharply through his nostrils.  He didn’t want to have this discussion with his mother.  He didn’t want to have it with his father either and his options were severely limited.  
  


“Could you send for Father?  I think I need to speak with both of you.  It’s rather important I suppose.  I should have done this ages ago,”  Draco wiped his palm down his face and set off for his favourite study.  
  


Narcissa wrung her hands and nodded sharply.  It would have been easier to send a house elf to discover her husband’s whereabouts, but Draco’s current state concerned her.  It was the sort of information she wished to deliver herself.  She knew where she would find him.  He practically lived in his stupid Laboratory.  
  


“What is it you expect me to do?”  
  


Narcissa paused with her hand on the door handle as she heard her husband’s angry words.  She wasn’t aware they had guests and from the sounds of it, it wasn’t going well.  She twisted the handle and opened the door as quietly as humanly possible.  
  


“I don’t know, Lucius.  You said you were close to finding something.  I expected results.  Instead, I get your git of a son, drugged out of his mind Flooing into my home and telling me things I’d rather not know.”  
  


Her gasp drew the attention of the two wizards leant over the mahogany desk.  Her startlingly blue eyes widened as she realised their guest was once foe.  She blinked and gently closed the door behind her as she regained her composure.  
  


“Lucius, Draco wishes to speak with us.  Perhaps you should bring Mr Potter along as well.  It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to discover he’s got something to do with Draco’s current state.”  
  


Narcissa enjoyed the way Harry Potter squirmed under her scrutiny.  She had never been particularly fond of the boy and his actions after the War hadn’t altered her perceptions of him.  As her eyes slowly segued toward her husband, she smirked as he gulped guiltily and vacated the ornate office.  
  


She liked the way her dark grey robes swished against her body as she made her way toward the small study on the second floor.  She didn’t know why Draco preferred it to the others.  It was lined with dusty tomes and reminiscent of the library at Hogwarts and perhaps that was the draw.  
  


Her nose crinkled in disgust when she nearly tripped over Draco’s discarded blazer.  Narcissa plucked it from the floor with two fingers and laid it across the back of the black leather sofa nearest the Floo.  She stoked the fire with a flick of her wand and was startled to see her son slouched in the armchair nearest the window in the corner.  
  


His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat.  The Windsor knot of his tie was loosened and his eyes were red-rimmed with harsh purple bruises beneath.  Narcissa shivered as it reminded her of darker times, times she’d rather forget.  
  


“Draco?”  She murmured quietly and stepped toward him only to be stopped by his ragged sob.  
  


“I can’t do this.  I can’t keep doing this.  I can’t do this again.  I can’t.”  
  


Draco chanted the words over and over with his hands over his face and his mother’s heart broke for him.  She would do whatever he needed, whatever was necessary.  She would not fail him and she refused to allow Lucius to fail their son.  Not again.  
  


“Whatever it is you need Draco, tell me.  I’ll help you,”  Narcissa sunk to her knees beside her son and placed her hands on his forearms.  
  


“Would you?  Would you really?”  Draco snarled angrily and plucked his mother’s hands from his arms with disdain.  “I seriously doubt that.  What I need is to not have the memories of  _ her _ stuck in my head, that’s what I need.  I need to not see her every fucking time I close my eyes.  I need to be able to sleep and not have her scent lodged in my nostrils until it’s the only fucking thing I can smell.  I want to forget the way she felt, the way she tasted.  I want to forget the perfect way she fit in my arms.  It’s like…it’s like she was made to be in my arms, but that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”  
  


“Son—“  
  


“No, Father.  I’m not fucking finished.  Mother told me to tell her what I needed and I’m doing just that.  You like it when I’m an obedient son don’t you?  It’s what was always expected of me even when I hated myself for what I was doing, it was alright because my parents were proud of me.  What did that get me exactly?  I can’t quite remember,”  Draco leapt from the safety of his armchair and braced his hands against the unforgiving wall.  
  


His head struck the window and his father flinched away from the sound.  Lucius strode forward carefully and placed his wand on the dry bar.  He watched his son’s fists clench and knew Draco would begin striking out any second.  As his son’s fist drew back, Lucius gripped the swinging fist tightly and forced his son into his arms.  
  


Draco struggled, but even after all these years, Lucius was still stronger than his son.  He held the boy in an iron grip until the fight seemed to flee from him.  He hadn’t held Draco since he was in nappies and while the sensation was unfamiliar, it wasn’t unpleasant.  
  


“Theodore Nott drugged him,”  Harry Potter slowly slid along the wall in order to keep the Malfoys in view.  “Actually, Nott drugged his wife and utilised his wife to pass the Potion to Draco here.  From the nonsense he babbled the next morning, I suspect Nott is blackmailing him, but he refused to divulge any more details.  I believe his exact words were—“  
  


“Fuck off, Potter.”  
  


“Yes, those words exactly,”  Harry offered a half shrug and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.  
  


“Theodore Nott,”  Narcissa mused, “he married that  _ girl _ , didn’t he?”  Her upper lip twitched, but Harry had to admit she attempted to stem her distaste.  
  


“Hermione Granger, I believe that’s what you were trying to say.  You remember the mishap at the Ministry, don’t you?”  Harry’s narrowed green eyes would have intimidated anyone else, but Narcissa Malfoy was never the sort of witch to bend easily.  
  


She looked to Lucius and the warning in his eyes begged her to calm her ruffled Pureblood tendencies.  Her lips pursed and she turned away.  It was bad enough Lucius had been entertaining Harry Potter, but to be forced to be polite as well was simply too much for her to bear.  
  


“The Ministry has suspected that Nott has been behind the influx of Fervor for quite some time.  There was simply no way to prove it.  We’ve been investigating him for nearly two years.  I’d appreciate it if you kept such information to yourselves,”  Harry flounced onto the leather sofa but refrained from propping his feet onto the low lying table.  
  


“My son was administered an illegal Potion by one of his friends and the Ministry is doing nothing?  I don’t know why I’m even surprised.  I’m sure if it was one of your precious Weasleys, the entire community would be up in arms, but we’re only Malfoys,”  Narcissa sneered nastily and snapped her fingers.  
  


Harry didn’t even flinch when a house elf appeared with a silver tea service.  He was mildly surprised to see the elf clothed in a crisp white toga, but kept such comments to himself.  Eventually, Draco was forced beside him and Harry was kind enough to pour the distraught wizard a cup of hot tea.  
  


“It’s an off-book investigation, Mrs Malfoy.  I really can’t tell you more than that.  Let’s just say there are underlying reasons as to why Nott hasn’t been charged.  We’re looking to rectify the situation, but we’d rather ensure the safety of his wife first.  I’m sure you understand,”  Harry crossed his leg over his knee and bounced his foot.  
  


“Why is she a factor?”  Narcissa was irritated by her husband’s silence and gestured toward the messy haired brunet with raised eyebrows.  
  


Lucius sighed heavily and ignored the way Draco’s hand trembled and the clink of the teacup against the saucer.  Instead, he withdrew a packet of parchment from his inner pocket and placed it on the student desk nearest the bookshelf.  He tapped the green lamp with his wand to illuminate the pages and gently slid them toward his wife.  
  


Narcissa snatched the worn sheets and perused them quickly.  Her lips fell open in silent horror as the words swam on the parchment.  It was worse than she had thought, much, much worse and she wasn’t sure the poor girl would ever escape.  
  


_ On the 11th day, of the eighth month, in the year 1999, since the creation of the world according to the reckoning which we are accustomed to use here in the Wizarding Community of Britain.  
  
_

_ Theodore, son of Theodore Cantankerus of the family Nott said to this maiden daughter Hermione of  the family Granger, "Be thou my wife according to the laws of the Old Magic and the New."  
  
_

_ In accordance with the Binding Magic of Old and New, Theodore, son of Theodore Cantankerus will provide his maiden bride Hermione, of the family Granger two hundred galleons for her maidenhood.  In the event said bride does not come to their marriage pure, she shall provide two hundred galleons for his humiliation of her sins.  
  
_

_ As penance for her sins, Hermione of the family Granger shall not petition the Wizengamot for Dissolution of Marriage for a period not less than a singular decade.  In the event of Dissolution of Marriage after the passage of appropriate time as stated here within, Theodore, of the family Nott, will provide one hundred galleons of every year of marriage, not to exceed two thousand galleons.  
  
_

_ Theodore, of the family Nott, shall be afforded the opportunity to Petition the Wizengamot for the Dissolution of Marriage in the event he is dissatisfied with his bride’s ability to perform her duties.  Said Petition will be reviewed and granted without question.  
  
_

_ The dowry she brought from her house, in galleons, valuables, clothing, and all household goods, her husband will accept and shall be absorbed into his fortunes.  Her properties shall become his as her livelihood will depend on him.  
  
_

_ All basic necessities shall be provided by Theodore, of the family Nott, including shelter, clothing and food.  In return, Hermione of the family Granger, shall provide wifely duties however her husband deems fit as in accordance with the conjugal rights of the husband.  
  
_

_ Hermione, of the family Granger, will also be afforded certain protections as the need arises.  In the event of children, she shall be free from abuses both physical and emotional during the duration of parturiency.  Upon request, an Advocate will be provided by the Wizengamot to ensure her safety.  The Advocate may petition for the Dissolution of Marriage prior to contract completion if deemed necessary by the statements of unbiased witnesses and sworn testimonies after the child has reached the age of one year.  
  
_

_ Theodore, of the family Nott, shall be afforded the right to discipline his wife as he deems fit in accordance with the Old Magic and the New.  The restrictions for such shall only exclude death.  In the event of accidental death of spouse, Theodore, of the family Nott, shall not be held responsible for his bride’s demise as this contract prohibits such actions on his part.  
  
_

_ And we have completed the act of acquisition from Theodore son of Theodore Cantankerus of the family Nott the said bridegroom, for Hermione, daughter of Granger, of the family this maiden, for all that which is stated and explained above, by an instrument legally fit to establish a transaction.  And everything is valid and established.  
  
_

_ Theodore Nott and Hermione Granger have been bound by the constraints of this Magical Marriage Contract with Magic both Old and New as signified by their blood signatures on this day.  
  
_

“It’s barbaric.  I can’t believe, why would he?  Merlin, that poor girl, I can’t imagine the horrors she’s had to suffer.  What are you going to do about it?”  Narcissa felt the papers fall from her fingers and she didn’t attempt to catch them.  
  


“How is it any different than what happened between you and Father?”  Draco finally managed to finish his tea and it cleared his head some.  
  


“Draco,”  Lucius began softly, “that was a different time.  I never intended to cause your mother pain.”  
  


“I know that.  Fuck, I knew it then, but I can’t help but compare,”  Draco felt a pang of guilt as the light in his father’s eyes dimmed.  “That bastard used us as puppets on a string.  Fuck, I’m using Muggle references.  She’s ruined me, but that’s not the point.  She’s the puppet now and there’s no one to kill to make it right.”  
  


“She’s really affected you, Draco,”  Lucius patted his son’s shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting manner, but looked positively awkward.  
  


“If it wasn’t for her you’d be rotting in Azkaban.  I’d be on probation until the entire Wizengamot died and I don’t even know what would have happened to Mother.  She was bloody nice to me when I returned to Hogwarts.  She didn’t have to be, but she was.  That fucking Death Eater stole her magic and then Nott ingratiated himself and look what’s happened!”  Draco kicked at the coffee table and there was a sense of satisfaction when his teacup and saucer crashed to the floor.  
  


“Stole her magic,”  Narcissa’s forefinger tapped her chin and her blue eyes quickly searched the bulging shelves.  “Who was in her general vicinity when she was struck?”  
  


Harry and Draco shared a quick glance.  They felt much like students in detention.  There was something about Narcissa’s manner that made grown men feel as though they were nothing more than incorrigible children.  
  


“I was, actually,”  Draco sat up a bit straighter and Harry snickered at his antics.  “Shut up, Potter.”  
  


Harry and Draco began shoving each other with grunts and groans.  Lucius rolled his eyes heavenward and silently begged for strength as he was forced to separate them.  The last thing he wanted to deal with was bits and pieces of Harry Potter littering the study.  Narcissa had quite the temper after all.  
  


“Imbeciles,”  Narcissa struggled with a particularly large tome and while Lucius wished to give her aid, he was forced to remain wedged between the insufferable children.  
  


“Cissa, I can see the delightful spark in your eyes.  Draco, do behave.  Your mother is on to something,”  Lucius resorted to a quick smack on the back of his son’s head and hurried toward his wife.  
  


Narcissa flipped the pages carefully as they were obviously ancient.  She was afraid they would crumble beneath her fingertips and that would ruin everything.  She vaguely recalled Abraxas Malfoy’s pride in the book and it seemed his showmanship would prove to be advantageous to their current situation.  
  


“Draco, have you been having difficulties with your magic that you have not shared with us?”  
  


Draco mumbled incoherently and avoided the piercing eyes boring into the back of his head.  It was Harry bumping his shoulder that caused him to sigh dramatically.  He didn’t like to discuss The Incident as they called it.  He didn’t like recalling the powerlessness he felt as he watched Hermione Granger crumple, nor the blinding pain that soon followed.  Draco closed his eyes and ignored the gentle hum that filled his ears.  
  


As if to answer his mother’s question, Harry’s teacup and saucer exploded and shards of glass rained down upon them.  A handful of Draco’s old school texts leapt from the shelves and danced lightly on the dark green Persian rug before they came to rest.  As Draco’s leg bounced nervously, the coffee table rattled loudly and it was finally Harry Potter that placed a light hand on Draco’s.  
  


“She’s alright today.  She’ll be alright tomorrow.  Pull yourself together, otherwise, she’s going to barrage you with so many questions you’ll be forced to Silence her.”  
  


“As much as I am remiss to agree with Mr Potter, he is correct,”  Lucius slowly sunk into the armchair his son had vacated nearest the window and sighed.  
  


“You really should have come to me sooner.  I don’t know why I’m always overlooked.  I was part of the Inner Circle for Salazar’s sake and I wasn’t even Marked.  You would think that would count for something, but apparently it means nothing when surrounded by men,”  Narcissa slapped her hands on the student desk with a bright flush to her high cheekbones.  
  


“I think if your mother could get passed her blood prejudices, she and Hermione would get along famously.  They’ve got that same sort of, uhm,”  Harry scratched his head and abruptly stopped speaking.  
  


“Swotty mannerisms, yeah I’m aware, Potter,”  Draco rubbed his forehead and ignored his mother’s huff of indignation.  “Go on then, Mother, regale us with the answer to our problems.”  
  


Narcissa straightened her shoulders and the tilt of her jaw.  She revelled in the moment and smiled serenely.  She was an intelligent woman and she knew it.  It would take more than a handful of inept men to make her feel less than exactly what she always would be, a ferociously protective mother.  
  


“I can’t pretend I recall all the details of the day in question.  I was much more concerned with the lives of my husband and my son.  I can’t be faulted for my concerns.  It was the moments afterwards that concerned me the most, however, Draco has avoided us for ages.  There truly wasn’t any way to discern the truth, until today,” Narcissa perched on the arm of the leather sofa and stroked her son’s hair.  
  


“Cissa—“  
  


“Don’t Lucius.  From the looks of things, you and Mr Potter have been working together for quite some time.  Not for one moment did you even consider discussing your decision with me.  We’ve already been unwillingly dragged down that particular corridor and it nearly killed us.  How dare you?!”  
  


“Mother,”  Draco groaned from beside her and leant into her side.  “Please tell us what you’ve discovered.  I’m running out of bloody time.  You do realise I’ve hired on Hermione Granger as my Research Assistant?”  
  


Narcissa’s arm draped around her son’s shoulders and she loved that he allowed her such affections.  He had always been an independent boy and as a man, he had looked to his father.  It had hurt her, but she’d always understood.  A boy needs their father, but it would have been ever so helpful if Lucius had made better choices.  
  


“He bound her magic.  I’m sure you’ve managed to deduce that much on your own,” said Narcissa.  
  


“Yeah but, if that were true, wouldn’t that sort of spell have ended when Lucius killed him?  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining the man is dead, but I am ridiculously curious,”  Harry Potter leant forward and braced his elbows on his knees, completely enraptured.  
  


“Hmm yes, one would think that wouldn’t they, Mr Potter?”  Narcissa’s short smile was enough to give Harry hope.  “When one is utilising the Dark Arts, the elemental rules we’ve all learned no longer remain true.  It is referred to as the Dark Arts for a reason.  The Darkness leeches into one’s soul and alters the curses to suit the Caster’s   needs.  It’s all written there in eerily terrifying clarity if you know where to look.”  
  


“How did he alter it?  The Curse I mean, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?  The Death Eater altered the Curse and that’s why it didn’t end when he was killed?”  Harry fidgeted in his seat, but the sharp glower from Lucius caused him to still.  
  


“Exactly, Mr Potter.  The Curse was altered, hence why Ms Granger  _ and _ my son were affected.  If you’ll simply turn to page—“  
  


“Don’t say it,”  Draco moaned.  
  


“394, you’ll see the handwritten notes in the margin,”  Narcissa continued on as though her son hadn’t the manners of a troll.  “Due to Draco’s close proximity to Ms Granger and his incessant need or want or what have you to protect her, the Binding Curse attached to him.  It’s all very simple.  My son has been spellbound to a Muggle-born witch and I’m in dire need of a drink.”  
  


Narcissa Malfoy fanned her throat with her fingertips, quite dramatically really.  Harry could finally see where Draco had received his tendencies, but it didn’t make him feel much better.  Hermione was still trapped.  There still wasn’t a definitive answer and he didn’t know how to feel about it.  
  


“Mistress,”  A little brown house elf named Mimsy stepped into the study with a squeak.  “I is sorry to interrupt.  There be an angry large man shouting for Mr Harry Potter.  He said to give this.”  
  


Harry accepted the envelope with trepidation.  He swallowed hard when he broke the Minister for Magic’s seal and winced as he read the scrawled words across the parchment.  Wordlessly, he handed the missive not to Draco, but to Lucius Malfoy with a grim set to his lips.  Lucius parted his dry lips and read the words with a quiver in his voice.  
  


“Ms Granger’s in hospital.  It seems there’s been an accident and Mr Nott requests your presence, Draco.”

 


	6. Session 69

**Session 69  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

 _Patient is smiling.  I’m honestly not sure how to feel about that.  I can’t recall if it has ever happened before without it being facetious in nature._  


You’re sarcasm needs work.  I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you that before, but it’s true.  


_Come on then, tell me all about it.  I’m going to assume that smile isn’t due to your husband._  


I do smile sometimes because of my husband.  I smile when he leaves me alone.  I smile when he goes off to work.  I smile when I come home and he isn’t there.  I smile when he invites Pansy to tea as an excuse for him to sneak off and fuck Ernie.  


_Are you friends with Pansy now?_  


I don’t know that I would classify it as friends, but she’s not awful.  I prefer Daphne, but my husband would never allow her to visit.  She’s dating Harry you see, and if there’s a choice in the matter, we avoid all things Harry Potter.  The Weasleys are even worse according to him, not that they’ve bothered with me since I married.  


_Does that hurt your feelings?_  


Well, I don’t feel good about it.  I understand to a certain extent.  Molly was desperate for me to marry Ron and I didn’t want that.  In retrospect, it would have been better than my current predicament.  Of course, I’m sure he would disagree.  I have it on good authority he’s superbly happy with that rugby player in Brazil.  I never would have imagined, but I never would have imagined this for myself either.  


_What did you imagine for yourself?_  


Gods, that’s a fantastic question really.  Uhm, well, I always loved books.  It’s not just the knowledge that comes with them, but the way they feel in my hands, the way they smell.  It’s comforting to me for reasons I can’t even explain.  I can get lost within the pages, within the words and escape.  


_That’s lovely really, but it didn’t answer my question._  


What do you want to hear?  Would it please you to know that I wanted the same things that every other girl has wanted since the beginning of time?  I hate admitting that.  I was always ambitious because that’s what my parents expected of me.  They wanted me to be more and I don’t fault them for that.  I never wanted to be Molly Weasley with her brood of children, but it’s what she wanted and I can respect that.  I wanted to make a difference.  I wanted to write legislation and change the perceptions of bloodlines and magical creatures.  I also wanted to fall in love and raise a family.    


_What do you want now?_  


Freedom.  I don’t know if that’s a viable option, but I dream about it.  I have hopes that one day it will happen.  I haven’t necessarily given up, but my hope is waning.  My new friend says I should keep my chin up and he’s not wrong.  I mean, I found a copy of my Marriage Contract on accident.  I think my husband was showing it off to one of his friends because ordinarily it’s hidden away in places I haven’t access.  Do you realise that in order for me to gain my freedom either he has to divorce me or he has to abuse me while I’m pregnant?  It’s awful, worse than awful.  I don’t want to be pregnant.  I want to be a mother, but I don’t want to have his children.  


_I’m not usually the sort to suggest such a thing, but have you considered straying?_  


You’re exactly the sort to suggest it.  You strayed and you weren’t even married.  I’m sorry that was cruel.  Yes, I have actually considered it.  It would be nearly impossible unless of course, I considered my new friend, but I’d rather not.  He’s a lovely man, but I just don’t see him that way.  I don’t think I could consider having a child with someone I didn’t love either.  I know it happens, quite often so I’m told, but—  


_Despite your circumstances, you’re still a romantic at heart.  Perhaps your new friend could smuggle you some books.  I’m sure there are numerous legal tomes to keep you busy.  Perhaps you’ll discover an enchanting wizard at your new place of employment.  Stranger things have happened.  Why are you laughing?_  


Gemma, I know I don’t speak about many things that you feel I should, but sleeping with my employer would be out of the question.  First and foremost, the company head is completely committed to his wife.  The wizard I work beneath would never consider me for those sorts of activities.  He’s friends with my husband and we never got along as children.  


_You didn’t mention a lack of attraction._  


That would make me a liar.  He’s easy on the eyes, quite good looking really and I’m sure he knows it.  He’s not rude to me anymore, but he’s been avoiding me lately and I don’t blame him.  


_Would you like to tell me about it?_  


Not especially, no.  It isn’t my story to tell and I know his mother has been grating on his nerves.  Apparently, she doesn’t approve of his dating habits, but that’s neither here nor there.  He’s a beautiful man and he’d never look at me twice, not to mention my obvious blood issues.  


_You like him, more than a little if I had to wager._  


It’s really difficult not to like him, which is surprising.  He’s quite intelligent and there’s this kindness.  It sneaks up on you because you don’t expect it from him.  He’s astonishingly observant as well.  It definitely doesn’t hurt that he’s protected me more than once.  I didn’t want to like him.  I wanted to remain apathetic, but it’s…impossible, especially after—  


_After what, Hermione?_  


He visited me in hospital.  My husband never takes me to St. Mungo’s.  They’d ask too many questions, you see.  It’s always Muggle hospital.  He never tells anyone and I never have visitors.  I suppose I was in quite a bad way.  When I woke, he was there.  He was…he was holding my hand and I don’t know why.  I don’t know why he was there.  I don’t know why he was holding my hand.  I only know he was there when my husband wasn’t and when he saw I had woken, he sighed and left.  I haven’t seen him since then and I, I hate admitting it, but I miss him.  


_Please don’t cry.  I’m Slytherin, Hermione.  I’m not equipped to deal with so much emotion.  Wait, where are you going?  Patient has vacated the session._  


* * *

 

Cassius Warrington decided he was quite uncomfortable amongst Muggles.  There were certain aspects he didn’t mind and downright enjoyed, but the bulk of it was stress inducing to say the least.  If it weren’t for the fact his mate had asked him to keep an eye on Hermione Granger, he’d be safely at home and probably completely pissed.  


He didn’t like the way they bumped against him.  It was as if they had no sense of propriety.  He wondered if Muggles had a hierarchy and if they did, who taught them manners.  For whoever was assigned the task, had been sorely lacking in their duties.  


“Cass, is that you?  What are you…what are you doing here?”  Hermione looped her knit scarf around her neck in order to hide the yellow blemishes, but he saw them anyway.  


Cassius really hadn’t an opinion on the way Theodore Nott treated Hermione, but it made him slightly uncomfortable.  He recalled his own mother cowering in the dark and his father standing over the slight woman shouting until the wee small hours of the morning.  He preferred not to remember if there was a choice in the matter.  


“Oh, I uhm, well I was just—“ Cassius pulled on his blond hair and offered his arm without ever answering her question.  “We’d better be going if we’re going to get back to the Lab on time.  You know how he gets.”  


“No, actually I don’t.  I haven’t seen him once since I started.  I don’t know how I’m supposed to be his Research Assistant when he hasn’t given me anything to research,”  Hermione easily threaded her arm through his and manoeuvred them through the Muggle streets.  


She had always enjoyed her walks home from Gemma’s office.  It was uncustomary for a Healer to have an office in the midst of Muggle London, but considering Gemma’s Ministry stipulated probation, it made sense.  From her experience, most of the witches and wizards who had been sanctioned by the Ministry remained under a self-imposed house arrest due to their personal shame.  


“He’s been busy,”  Cassius mumbled and lifted a half shoulder as he avoided a paunchy man with a sneer on his lips.  


“That was the point of hiring me on in the first place.  I don’t understand at all.  Maybe I’ve done something that upset him.  It’s possible.  He’s a bit volatile and I have an incredible need to—“  


“Talk me to death, yeah I know.  Listen, I’ve read about this Muggle place called a salon and apparently you pay people to do things to your hair.”  


Cassius wasn’t interested in her issues with Draco Malfoy.  He’d had to listen to Malfoy blather on about the woman for weeks on end.  He wasn’t about to hear it from both sides.  It wasn’t the least bit interesting and personally, he thought they should just shag it out, but Malfoy hadn’t appreciated that comment in the least.  


“What’s wrong with your hair?”  Hermione sighed and abandoned the idea of speaking to him about Draco, for the moment.  


“It’s not blue,”  His dark blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he dragged her into the Leaky Cauldron.  


“Cass, I’m not supposed to be here,”  Hermione harshly whispered.  


“We’re just borrowing Tom’s Floo.  If you think I’m fucking walking all the way to St Mark’s you’re insane.”  


She stared at his deep blue eyes and searched for truth.  He was an easygoing sort of man and she appreciated that considering she was surrounded by tension and angst.  Hermione knew if it hadn’t been for Draco Malfoy avoiding her, the strange friendship with Cassius Warrington never would have occurred.  


It was easier than her friendships with Harry and Ron.  It hadn’t been laced with underlying irritation.  He had changed since their time at Hogwarts.  He was a different man after the War.  He wasn’t the same infuriating little boy who marched about and flouted his power on the Inquisitorial Squad and Hermione was grateful for that.  


She never asked what had happened to alter his views and he had never offered the information.  She’d never asked for nor expected an apology, and he had never offered that either.  It was really just…nice to ignore the past and move forward.  


There weren’t expectations between them and Merlin knew, Hermione needed that reprieve.  She didn’t have to dress a specific way.  She didn’t have to speak a specific way.  She wasn’t reprimanded for intonation.  She wasn’t dosed with strange Potions for sport.  


“Theo said—“  


“Fuck Theo, right up his arse.  Oh wait, he’d like that.  He’s a horrible person, H.  I get the allure and all that as he’s not bad to look at I suppose, but you could have done so much better.  I wish I knew what you were thinking,”  Cassius nodded curtly toward Tom and dragged her through the Leaky toward the Floo in the back.  


“Oh yes, the men were just lining up around the block and I picked the worst one.  It wasn’t like that, Cass and you bloody well know it,”  Hermione squeaked when he pushed her into the Floo and held her breath as they spun through the Network.  


“I know it,”  He grumbled while he brushed the soot from his Muggle jeans and blazer.  “You probably would have married that idiot Weasley bloke.  You’d have some powerful sort of job in the Ministry and a couple of kids with horrible names and red hair.”  


“That’s not very nice, Cass.”  


Hermione removed her travelling cloak and kept her scarf wound around her neck.  She didn’t enjoy addressing the issues with Theo’s manhandling.  She had work to do.  


“So what if it’s nice or not?  It’s fucking true, H.  It would have been a horribly boring life.  This one isn’t much better, but it’s got me in it and I’m fantastic,”  Cassius Warrington tugged on the long blond hair that kissed his chin and then pulled it back.  


Despite her conflicted feelings on the matter, Hermione laughed.  It started small, almost as if she were afraid of the sound.  Her fingertips instinctively gripped her cheeks as the laughter grew and braced herself on the side table nearest the Floo.  


Cassius snatched her hand from her cheeks.  He hated that bit.  He hated that Theodore Nott had stolen the smallest moments of joy in her life.  If he could have managed it, he would have killed the man and had said as much, numerous times.  


“Sorr—“  


“Don’t you fucking apologise.  Don’t you dare,”  Cass snarled and threw her hand away from him.  


Hermione sighed and shook her head.  She couldn’t help it.  Unsolicited laughter was forbidden in the Nott household.  It was habit to disguise her amusement.  She didn’t particularly like the habit, but it was difficult to break.  


She dutifully followed Cass through the entryway and into the adequate library nearest the Potions Laboratory.  It was strange to be able to wander around Draco Malfoy’s home and not have to worry about stepping into what she liked to call ‘Forbidden Zones’.  Hermione hadn’t seen the entire home, but what she had been privy to was lovely.  


“I like it here,”  Hermione whispered to herself as she fingered the deep golden shelves.  


There was a bundle of parchment in the centre of the rich mahogany desk directly across from the built-in bookshelves.  It was tied neatly with a red ribbon and she knew it was for her.  While Draco Malfoy had avoided her even in passing, he had managed to communicate to a certain extent.  


“What’s not to like, really?”  Cass shrugged and lazily tossed his blazer onto the settee near the bay windows.  “Would you like to see the rest of the place?  Malfoy’s manners are lacking these days, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay cooped up in the library.”  


Hermione hesitated, but the twinkle in his eye and that teasing wink had her agreeing.  Cass grasped her hand and pulled her through the glass doors leading to the garden.  She’d never been in the garden space of Devil’s Lair.  Theodore had forbid it and the one time she had disobeyed, the repercussions were harsh.  


“I don’t think we should be out here.  I’ve got work to do, Cass,”  Hermione’s eyes were filled with life and that was exactly what he was looking for.  


He was tired of seeing her frown and purse her lips before answering any question he posed.  He was tired of seeing her flinch at any little noise.  He was ridiculously tired of the way she would shiver when Theo came to retrieve her each day.  He wanted to hear her laugh.  He wanted to see her smile.  He wanted to see that spark of life he barely remembered from Hogwarts.  


“Fuck, I forgot he was fucking entertaining today.  I hate it.  Have I ever told you that?”  Cass pulled Hermione behind one of few large trees scattered through the modest garden.  “I suppose Susan is better than Astoria, but he’s an intelligent bloke—“  


“Susan’s a nice witch,”  Hermione whispered into his shoulder and averted her eyes from the scene before her.  


“Nice?  I suppose she’s nice enough for a Hufflepuff.  I don’t know what he was thinking.  Her entire family was decimated during the First Wizarding War by Voldemort himself, that’s pretty fucking heavy, H.  Personally, I think he just likes to irritate his mum,”  Cass laughed lightly and tossed a two-finger salute to Draco when the wizard spied them behind the tree.  


“Mrs Malfoy doesn’t care for Susan?”  Hermione pretended to feign interest, but Cass knew better.  


“It’s that red hair.  She said she’d rather have Muggle grandchildren then ones that could pass as Weasleys.  Come on, I’ll show you the interior.  I’m not in a social mood.”  


“You’re always chatting to me, which is pretty social if you ask me.”  


Cassius pushed Hermione into the conservatory and she gasped in delight.  It was light, bright, and airy, just what she loved most about a conservatory.  Theo had demolished the one in his family home.  He claimed it would be too tempting for her to step into the garden and he wasn’t wrong.  


“I only engage with you because I’ve been trying to shag you.  I was fairly certain that was obvious.  I can’t believe you haven’t picked up on the sexual tension,”  Cass tossed his arm over her shoulder and kissed her temple.  


“Oh yes, how could I have forgotten?  I’m simply irresistible,”  Hermione leaned into his side and sighed.  


Cass took her through the house slowly.  He made an effort to tell her bits and pieces of history.  He knew she soaked up that sort of thing and he liked to make her happy.  She didn’t judge him for his personal issues, for his mistakes.  She knew of them, as he’d told her, but Hermione had shrugged and told him everybody had something.  


“We’ll avoid the Laboratory.  I’m sure Malfoy’s got something volatile brewing in there.  He’s been so disagreeable lately, I don’t know why I stay with him,”  Cassius winced and closed his eyes.  


He hadn’t meant to tell her.  It was his issue and if she knew, Hermione Granger would not be able to resist fixing it.  She had never learned that there were some things that could be not be fixed with pretty words and comforting pats on the hand.  


“You’re staying here?  I thought you had a townhouse of your own.  What’s going on Cass?”  Hermione stumbled on the top step and gazed up at him.  


Cassius shook his head and ignored her.  He gestured toward one of the closed doors with his mask firmly in place.  Hermione twisted the handle and was surprised to be stepping into what was obviously a private study.  


The décor was subtle and she liked that.  It was quite similar to what she would have chosen for herself, not that Theo would allow her a space of her own.  The walls were splashed with a deep dark blue, but it was incredibly soothing against the glossy white wainscoting.  


“This is the study.  I always thought it had a feminine sort of flair to it, but I wouldn’t suggest you say it to him.  He punched me, violent bastard,”  Cass remained in the doorjamb and wondered how he was going to answer her question.  


“I like it.  It’s soft and soothing, but there’s an understated masculinity here.  This large black leather chair is probably the softest thing in existence.  I’m not going to test it as I fear I’d never get any work done.”  


Hermione turned to Cass with a small smile, but it froze on her lips as lilting feminine laughter filled the air between them.  She turned toward the window and pulled it shut gently.  Cass smirked at the hardness in her eyes.  


He knew there was something simmering between his best friend and Draco Malfoy, but they denied it vehemently.  He wouldn’t have judged them for it.  Cassius Warrington wasn’t that sort of bloke.  He didn’t care if Hermione was married.  He didn’t care if Draco was shagging his way through the Wizarding Community.  There was something there, some sort of sordid secret, some sort of ridiculous tension and he really wished they’d work it out.  It would make his life so much simpler, and Cass knew he needed that.  


“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Malfoy?”  


Hermione’s dark eyes narrowed and she pushed passed him.  She ventured toward the end of the corridor and flung open the door only to gasp.  She grappled for the door handle, but Cass was suddenly in the way and dragged her into the obviously private space.  


“Alright, I’ll tell you on one condition,”  Hermione avoided the ridiculously large four-poster bed and perched on the edge of the butter yellow settee at the foot of the bed.  “Tell me why you’re here.”  


Cassius Warrington flung himself on the soft cushion beside her and leant into her side.  He liked the way her hand immediately ran through his hair.  He liked the way she patiently waited.  He liked the way she knew him and he’d tried to hide all his facets, but she saw right through him.  


“It was the Ministry.  I knew it was coming, it was always coming.  I just wanted to pretend that I had been punished enough,”  Cass situated himself beneath Hermione’s arm and stared at the blank blue wall.  “There were accusations and you know how the Ministry works.  They seize assets first and ask questions when it suits them.  I haven’t anything anymore and Draco was kind enough to put me up and give me a job.  At least I’m paying my own way now and not dependent on charity.”  


“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Hermione scratched his scalp and pretended she didn’t feel his head rub against her breast.  


“What would you have done?  You’d have made a fuss at Nott.  You would have badgered him to speak to the Ministry and he wouldn’t have appreciated that.  I wasn’t going to allow you to suffer any more than fucking necessary and you don’t get to be angry with me for it.”  


Cassius pushed himself into a seated position and then stood.  He didn’t want to discuss his hardships with her.  How could he?  Hers were so much worse and to share his issues felt as though he was pushing aside hers.  He couldn’t do that.  He wouldn’t do that.  


“Theo Imperioed me.  It wasn’t the first time he’d done it and it probably won’t be the last.  I hate it, but I haven’t the tools to properly fight it,”  Hermione spoke quietly and felt the need to stand.  “He’s been smuggling illegal Potions, but Fervor is particularly vile.  It’s a Lust Potion but it causes one’s inhibitions to fall to the wayside.  Theo claims it makes one act on their deepest desires, but I can’t believe that.”  


Cass flounced onto Draco’s bed and patted the empty space beside him.  Hermione vacillated for a moment before she climbed onto the luxurious four-poster.  It was second nature to rest her head on his chest and listen to the sound of his heart’s gentle thumps.  


She’d always enjoyed the sound of the heart.  There was something about it that soothed her.  It lifted her spirits in the darkest of times, well it used too.  Hermione hadn’t the luxury of such things since marrying Theo.  He wasn’t particularly fond of her touch.  


“Go on,”  Cass yanked on her free curls and absently patted her back.  He was grateful she hadn’t pushed the issue and redirected their conversation.  


“Malfoy and Astoria were there for dinner and—“  


“Full stop,”  Cass sat up quickly and leant against the headboard as Hermione turned from him.  “Is this what happened weeks ago?  I popped over for breakkie and he was in an awful state.  Did you two, I mean did you?”  Cass swallowed hard and closed his deep blue eyes.  


“I can’t answer that because I don’t really know.  Theo thinks it’s absolutely hilarious, Malfoy refuses to see me, let alone speak with me, so I can’t even tell you the truth of the matter as I don’t know it.  I thought perhaps he’d be willing to shed some light on it.  I thought perhaps he’d be willing to give me access to some books I can’t purchase on my own, but he’s nowhere.”  


“Well, he’s somewhere.  He’s usually between some random witch’s thighs, but that hasn’t happened in weeks.  Astoria hasn’t been around.  That Susan Bones girl has been spending loads of time here, but she doesn’t stay over.  I think your little tete-a-tete with Malfoy has affected him quite a lot,”  Cass sighed heavily, but there was nothing more he could offer.  


Hermione rolled onto her stomach and inhaled the crisp pillow casing.  The scent was a combination of fresh linen with undercurrents of bergamot and smoke.  It calmed her senses for reasons she didn’t even understand, nor did she care to delve into.  At this point in her life, Hermione Granger would take comfort wherever it could be found.  


“I discovered a way out.  I don’t think I could do it, but it’s there I suppose, for that moment of pure desperation,”  Hermione propped her head on her bent arms and turned her face into Cassius Warrington’s side.  


“My father was a bastard, did I ever tell you that?  No, I don’t imagine I did.  He wasn’t horribly mean to me or anything, but I didn’t see him much.  He was downright awful to my mum.  He’d shout at her for hours upon hours until it sounded like all the words meshed together and no longer made sense.  She was a nice woman, my mum was, at least from what I can remember.  She discovered a caveat to their Marriage Contract before I was ever born.  I’d wager it was the same as yours.  It’s the only reason I exist, which is a terrible weight for a child to bear.  Don’t ever tell him, H,”  Cass kissed the top of her head.  


“What happened to your mother, Cass?”  Hermione squeezed her eyes so tightly shut they throbbed, but she already knew the answer.  


“She died, of course.  She got away.  The Wizengamot made sure of that.  She moved into a tiny little cottage on the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole.  I’ve never had the heart to visit it.  It seems, the Wizengamot in their infinite wisdom didn’t bother for any sort of provisions after she’d left, that’s why Advocates exist these days.  My father didn’t utilise any sort of Unforgivable or anything like that.  No, he was a brilliant man.  Instead, he poisoned her tea.  He sat there and finished his fucking tea sandwiches as she toppled to the floor.  He took me back home and raised me up.  When good old dad was well into his cups, he liked to tell me all about it,”  Cass angrily wiped his cheeks and turned away from his friend.  He knew there would be pity in her eyes and he’d rather not see it.  


“You’re warning me, aren’t you?”  Hermione stroked his forearm and sniffled softly.  


“I suppose I am.  If you’re broaching this subject with me, then you’re considering me and that’s not going to happen, H.  It’s not because I don’t love you or anything.  You know I adore you, but you’d need protection after breaking free of Nott and I wouldn’t be able to stop him from anything.  He’d kill you and I’d be responsible and I can’t have that,”  Cass chuckled without mirth and pretended he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching the spacious bedchamber.  “Besides, I wouldn’t make a very good father or anything.  I haven’t an example.  I wouldn’t mind giving you a go though.”  


Hermione sat up and gasped with indignation and Cass tackled her to the bed.  He hovered over her with a twinkle in his eye and a smile twitching at his lips.  It was only then she realised he was teasing her, but it hadn’t changed her mind any.  She didn’t care about his pedigree or his riches.  She just wanted her freedom and while she hadn’t made her decision yet, Hermione Granger was always the sort of witch to properly weigh her options, even when she was a witch without magic.  


“What the fuck is going on here?”  Draco Malfoy stormed into his bedchamber with fire flashing in his grey eyes.  


He didn’t recall inviting them into his personal space.  He didn’t recall allowing anyone into his personal space and yet here they were, lounging on his fucking bed.  It was despicable and the fact that he wanted to tear Cassius Warrington limb from limb had absolutely nothing to do with the woman beneath him.  Nothing at all.  


“Well, this is awkward isn’t it?”  Cass laughed and leapt from the bed with the grace of a gazelle.  


“Get out,”  Draco pointed toward the door and Cass looked to Hermione.  “She’s not your fucking boss.  She’s not the person putting you up.  Get the fuck out, Warrington.”  


Cass left the room with a swagger that Draco absolutely detested, but then he turned his sights to Hermione.  Her curls were wild and spread across her shoulders and her skirt was mussed.  He didn’t like it.  He didn’t like it at all.  It reminded him of ‘that day’ and he didn’t want to think about it.  


“I’m sorry.  We shouldn’t have been in here,”  Hermione slowly pushed herself off the four-poster and brushed the crinkles from her skirt.  


“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  Draco marched across the room and grasped her wrist.  


There was a gentle hum in her ears.  She could feel her blood rapidly travelling through her veins.  She swore she could count the dust particles in the air.  She was encompassed in the familiarity of strength. It was bubbling cauldrons and sparks bursting from the ends of wands.  It was levitating feathers and watching books fly into her hand.  It was magic.  It was home.  


“I said I was sorry,”  Hermione struggled in his grip and wondered if he felt what she did.  


She raised her free hand to push against his chest and he gasped.  His eyes were wild with confusion and he quickly backed her into the wall.  Draco’s fingers turned white as Hermione’s wrist turned red from the pressure of his grip.  His breaths grew raspy and the wall sconce burst, which startled them both.  


“Do not set foot in here again,”  Draco spat and quickly segued into a calculated smirk, “unless I invite you.”  


Hermione choked on her breath and only then did he release her.  She felt cold and empty as those feelings of warmth fled.  She felt as though a Dementor was perched on her shoulder, slowing sucking all the joy out of the world.  


“I need,”  Hermione gasped, “to speak to your father.”  


“My father?  What the fuck, Granger?  Do you really believe Lucius Malfoy is going to sit to tea with you?”  Draco scoffed angrily and backed away from her.  He remembered her propensity for violence and did not wish to be her victim.  


“It’s obvious I can’t ask you for help, Malfoy, but perhaps your father would be willing to give me aid.”  Hermione Granger pushed passed the befuddled Malfoy heir and ran down the steps.  


She didn’t want to spend another moment under his roof.  There was something enchanting and off-putting about the sensations being in close proximity to him evoked and it was more than she could handle.  Hermione wrestled with the front door and then she was in the street.  


She didn’t know where she was and she didn’t care.  Hermione simply needed to put as much space as possible between her and Draco Malfoy.  Therefore, it was a simple decision and she began to walk.  As she came to terms with her sudden freedom, Hermione Granger began to run.  


The skies had darkened considerably, but she didn’t pay attention to such things.  For a nanosecond, she wished she had thought to snatch up her cloak, but the wind against her cheeks made her forget such things.  The rain splattered against her hot skin and there in the midst of Muggles scrambling for cover, Hermione threw her head back to kiss the sky.

 


	7. Session 70

**Session 70  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

_ I honestly wasn’t expecting you.  Please, sit, Ms Granger.  
  
_

What do you mean you weren’t expecting me?  This is my usual time, isn’t it?  Did we change our appointments?  What happened?  You look—  
  


_ N-no you’re correct.  I just assumed.  It doesn’t matter.  Why don’t you tell me about your week?  
  
_

He paid you a visit, didn’t he?  When I wandered away from my employer’s?  
  


_ Your sessions aren’t about me, Ms Granger.  
  
_

He did.  I can see it in your eyes.  I can see it in the way you’re desperately clutching the scarf you’ve wrapped around your neck.  If I reached across your desk and tore it from you, would there be yellowing bruises beneath or has it become habit to wear it to hide the marks he left behind?  
  


_ Th-there’s nothing there.  H-he didn’t, but he threatened and I’m not sure I’m comfortable remaining your Mind Healer, Ms Granger.  
  
_

I expected that actually.  I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.  My last Counsellor managed three sessions before she decided I was more than she could handle.  
  


_ Wait!  Hermione!  Your time isn’t up!  If you leave now—  
  
_

Bollocks, the ring.  I always forget about the fucking ring.  I hate this thing.  It’s hideously ugly and I don’t care that it’s a family heirloom.  It wasn’t what he originally gave me, did I tell you that?  No, I don’t imagine I did.  It’s not something I enjoy talking about.  He tricked me, but there’s no surprise now is there?  
  


_ Why don’t you tell me about it?  
  
_

I thought you couldn’t be my Mind Healer any longer?  
  


_ Patient is being cheeky.  As long as you’re here, we might as well delve into some issues and take it from there.  
  
_

It was after we were married and I was already doomed.  He liked to surprise me with gifts that weren’t pleasant.  I’m not going to tell you more than that.  I refuse to discuss it.  Regardless, he grasped my hand one morning and told me to close my eyes.  I was still completely disillusioned and hoped everything would be better.  I did as he bid and I felt my simple band being slipped off my finger and then it was back.  I opened my eyes and this black-gemmed hideousness was stuck to my finger.  
  


_ What happened then?  
  
_

He thrust his wand into my throat and told me I was never to remove it.  I was never to disobey him or he would know.  He would find me.  He would kill me.  I-I don’t even know if it comes off.  I’ve never tried.  Isn’t that stupid?  I’m stronger than this, at least I used to be.  
  


_ What happened last week?  
  
_

I was--  It was an accident.  I forgot about the ring.  My friend was showing me around my employer’s home.  He was entertaining a guest and I was uncomfortable.  My friend and I segued into his bedroom and my boss didn’t like that one bit.  He shouted a fair bit but he grabbed my wrist and—  
  


_ And what, Ms Granger?  Did he hurt you?  
  
_

No!  No, he would never hurt me.  I mean, he would never intentionally hurt me, physically.  What I mean to say is—  
  


_ Take a breath and collect yourself.  It’s all right.  You’re safe here.  
  
_

I’m not though, am I?  I’m not safe anywhere.  I swear I can feel him watching me.  It doesn’t matter, Gemma.  I can’t get out.  My friend turned me down.  He won’t do it.  He was my only option and well, he’s got his reasons, but I must admit I’m a bit put out now.  
  


_ Hermione…  
  
_

Right yes, so anyway.  My employer grabbed my wrist and I felt it.  I felt magic.  I felt my magic.  I had forgotten what it felt like.  It was part of me and I took it for granted once Voldemort was defeated.  I forgot the way it felt as it coursed through my veins.  I forgot the way my heart sounded as it beat.  I forgot everything and for that scant moment, I remember what it was like to be alive.  I’d do anything to get it back.  
  


_ Have you considered broaching the subject with your employer?  Considering he’s the only person that’s worked a magical spark from you, perhaps he’d be willing to at least ruminate on your proposal.  
  
_

You’re mad.  You’re absolutely mad.  I’m not asking him.  I’d never ask him.  He would never willingly sully himself with me.  He doesn’t even like me.  He only hired me on because, because uhm well, obviously because he needed a research assistant and no one else was willing to put up with his surly disposition.  
  


_ You like him.  
  
_

Like him?  Are you mental?  He’s obnoxious.  He’s rude.  It doesn’t matter that he remembers the sort of wine I prefer to drink or even that he’s intercepted my husband on more than one occasion.  He’s attractive sure, but he’s got loads of actual witches to choose from.  
  


_ You’re blushing.  
  
_

I’ve got to go actually.  My friend is to meet me and it’s nearby so you don’t need to worry.  
  


_ It’s alright to like him, Hermione.  You’re allowed to find a man attractive. _

  
I’m married to his mate.  What’s the point?

* * *

 

Cassius Warrington had a bit of a jaunt to his step as he travelled amongst the Muggles.  He was still ill at ease, but he made an effort.  He did hate to disappoint Hermione.  He didn’t care for the look in her eyes when he flinched away from the non-magic folks.  
  


He was ridiculously relieved he had been able to find her after she fucked off from Malfoy’s place.  It hadn’t been that difficult, but he hadn’t told Malfoy.  Draco had been out of his mind looking for Hermione and Cass didn’t feel the need to alleviate his guilt.  
  


He wasn’t positive anything had happened between them, but he suspected there was something.  He enjoyed watching them avoid one another when it came down to it.  He enjoyed the subtle glances and even the blush that rose high on Hermione’s cheeks.  It was a game to Cass more than anything.  It filled the empty silences and what more was there to say about it?  
  


“I’m not sure this is a good idea,”  Hermione jolted her friend from his daydream with a harsh whisper.  
  


“It’ll be bloody fine.  You worry too much.”  
  


Cass tossed her a saucy wink and practically dragged her down the pavement.  He was quite proud of himself for phoning the salon on his own.  He wasn’t used to such things being raised a Wizard, but it had been fun to be naughty.  Vaguely, he wondered what his father would think of his antics before deciding the old codger could go fuck himself.  
  


“Wh-what if he doesn’t like it?  What if he asks me where I got the money to do it?  What am I supposed to do then, Cass?”  
  


Cass rolled his eyes and shoved her into the shop.  He snorted when Hermione squeaked in alarm.  He laughed as the stylists swarmed her with gasps of horror.  He wasn’t the first man to comment on Hermione’s neglected style.  It was the source of many gossip fueled conversations, especially when Theo dragged his wife into the Wizarding World.  
  


“Look at that hair!”  
“And those nails!”  
“She’s in desperate need of a facial.”  
“It’s obvious she’s never been pampered.”  
  


“Cass!  Cass!”  Hermione shouted for him desperately and he smiled a wicked smile and waved them away.  
  


Later, as Cassius Warrington reclined on a strange red chair that vibrated, with cucumber slices on his eyes, he sighed.  It was peaceful in his head, despite the chattering around him and it was heavenly.  It didn’t take long for Hermione Granger to ruin his peace with a well-placed punch to his relaxed stomach.  
  


“Fuck,”  Cass coughed and gripped his stomach while the cucumber slices slid from his eyes.  
  


“He’s going to kill me,”  Hermione hissed.  
  


Cass wiped his face with a hot damp towel and looked up at her.  He blinked half a dozen times, absolutely certain the woman standing before him was not Hermione Granger.  Her drab brown frizz was transformed into soft, chestnut curls that hung loosely down her back.  There was a glow about her that even had Cass reeling and he wasn’t the sort of wizard that had ever been taken with a witch.  
  


“You look bloody amazing.  He isn’t going to know what hit him,”  Cass hastily stood and walked around his best mate slowly.  
  


“Someone’s going to get hit all right, but it won’t be him,”  Hermione muttered angrily.  
  


“I’ve got a plan, come on then.”  
  


Cass hastily shoved a handful of Muggle money toward one of the many stylists and dragged Hermione from the salon.  He yanked the hood of her cloak over her hair as the rain began to sprinkle from the sky.  If he had known where the Apparition point was, he would have easily broken Theo’s ridiculous decree and taken them directly to Malfoy’s home.  
  


“We should consider a taxi,”  Hermione breathed as the chill in the air caused her cheeks to pinken.  
  


“Fuck so much of this,”  Cass snarled and dragged her into a dingy alley.  
  


Hermione’s stomach reeled as the vicious pull of Apparition squashed her against the taller wizard.  She had refrained from comment on the electric blue streaks in his hair, but the moment they landed, Hermione slapped him.  She attempted to kick Cass as well, but she was lifted from the ground and dragged away.  
  


“Granger!”  Draco hefted the struggling witch, but she was quite the hellion.  “Warrington, what the hell did you do?”  
  


Cass flung off his cloak and Draco’s eyes widened in shock.  The electric blue decorating the tips of Warrington’s hair was startling, to say the least, and Draco was absolutely speechless.  He had difficulty maintaining his hold on Hermione and she shrugged off her cloak and surged forward.  
  


“Stop it.  You’re being ridiculous.  He’s not going to fucking know!”  
  


“He’ll know.  He always knows.  How are you going to explain this away?  Look what they’ve done to me!”  
  


Draco’s upper lip twitched with disdain.  He’d had about enough of Granger’s hysteria.  His grey eyes narrowed and he withdrew his wand from the inner pocket of his ebony blazer.  With a simple swish and flick, Hermione Granger’s eyes closed and she crumpled where she stood.  
  


He caught her before her knees struck the imported porcelain tile and lifted her into his arms.  She was lighter than he believed she should be and that didn’t sit well with him at all.  Her glistening mauve lips parted and her brow furrowed as she slept.  
  


“Malfoy, what the fuck did you do to her?”  Cass yanked on his blue tipped hair while he looked at his friend nervously.  
  


“Nothing, she’s fine.  She’ll sleep for a bit and wake much calmer.  It’ll give you ample opportunity to explain to me why your hair is blue and why she looks as she does,”  Draco nonchalantly called over his shoulder and made his way up the stairs.  
  


Cass hurried after them, confusion splashed across his youthful face.  He faltered up the steps and turned toward the guest room only to discover it empty.  He spun on his heel and quickly glanced in the other rooms until the master was the only one left, but the impossibility of that notion was staggering.  
  


The door was cracked and Cass hesitated when it came to opening it.  He recalled Malfoy’s wrath when he had done so last week, but the floorboard squeaked and he was out of options.  He wasn’t sure what to make of the scene in front of him and he didn’t really want to try.  
  


“You’re infuriating,”  Draco whispered as he leant over Hermione.  
  


He had placed her on his bed, on his side of the bed no less.  He smoothed her curls and admired the sheen silently.  Draco’s fingertip caressed her cheek and his eyes were drawn to her lips.  
  


“What are you doing?”  Cass cleared his throat noisily, but Draco didn’t even look in his direction.  
  


“She drives me absolutely mad, did I ever tell you that?”  Draco’s thumb eased across Hermione’s lips and he pulled away as though burned when she sighed.  
  


“Actually, you do, at every fucking opportunity.  However, it doesn’t explain why you’re looking at her with such _reverence_ and dare I say, is that _affection_?”  Cass carefully perched on the edge of a cedar chest set nearest the foot of the bed and simply observed.  
  


“I’ve spent most of my life hating her.  It was what I was taught, you understand, Warrington.  Whenever she was outspoken in class or earned the best marks, my hatred grew.  It didn’t help that her best mates were Potter and Weasley,”  Draco scoffed.  “I thought, fuck I don’t know what I thought, but things were different when we returned to Hogwarts.  I didn’t have my minions for company and neither did she.  There were these moments, a series of moments, if you will, and I thought there was something there.”  
  


“And then she chose Theo,”  Cass rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers and attempted to understand the underlying truth.  
  


“Well yeah, and you know how he is.  He was busy playing his games with that Weasley wench.  It seemed she enjoyed his eclectic proclivities, so why did he choose Granger?”  The bitterness in Draco’s voice gave Cass pause.  
  


“He chose her because you didn’t,”  Cass shrugged.  
  


“I couldn’t fucking choose her, not then.  I was still so conflicted about everything.  I was busy trying to unravel my beliefs from that of my parents.  I was a fucking disaster and she had her entire life sorted out.  I figured they wouldn’t last, but then she lost her magic and I, well it doesn’t matter now does it?”  Draco growled.  “Don’t repeat this, but I feel as though I’ve got more control over my magic when she’s near.  She calms down the magical sparks begging to burst forth and soothes the agitated neurons that never seem to rest.”  
  


“She was quite the little know it all back then, wasn’t she?”  Cass smiled kindly at his slumbering friend and it did not escape his attention that Malfoy scowled.  
  


“She was lots of things back then.  She was the epitome of everything I was brought up to hate.  Muggleborn girl that didn’t deserve her magic, that’s what they said and I believed them. Wouldn’t amount to anything.  Just wait until the Dark Bastard eradicated her and her kind.  We’d be better for it, stronger for it and yet, without her, he’d still be here wielding his hate.  I don’t know if he ever would have stopped,”  Draco sneered, quite nastily, but Cass noted the gentleness in the way the pale blonde stroked the back of Hermione’s hand.  
  


“When did you stop—“  
  


“Believing the rhetoric?”  Draco pushed strands of blond from his forehead and closed his eyes.  “I don’t know.  I can’t say there was a defining moment.  I could lie.  There are loads of moments to choose from, but they’re all empty.  I liked that she challenged me.  I liked to rile her up, obviously.  I liked that she showed this fierceness that I never felt.  When it was all said and done, she was still there and she was still kind.  She was a little broken, but fuck Warrington, aren’t we all?  She was just so fucking  _ nice _ to me when we returned to Hogwarts.  Did I ever tell you that she hugged me?  I mean, the last hug I recall before hers was from fucking Voldemort, but she didn’t even think twice.”  
  


“Yeah, for a Brit, Granger is quite the little hugger.  She exudes that affection we didn’t receive from our parents.  I think if she hadn’t lost her magic, you probably would have stolen her right beneath Theo’s nose, and she’d be better for it,”  Cass winked with mischief in his blue eyes.  “You still could, Malfoy.  It’s never too late and all that nonsense.”  
  


Hermione whimpered and Draco hastily wiped the pinpricks of tears from the corners of her tightly closed eyes.  She twitched slightly and rolled away from Draco.  It was then her blouse rode up and the smattering of purple bruises was exposed.  She cried out in her restless slumber and Draco just wanted her pain to stop.  He couldn’t explain exactly why, nor did he try.  
  


“Rennervate,”  Draco whispered as he drew the witch onto his lap.  
  


Hermione’s chestnut curls brushed against his chin as she shook her head. Draco smoothed her blouse and reminded himself not to press too hard.  Cass was desperate to interrupt the moment as he was aware of the hard thump of boots climbing the stairs.  
  


“What do I have to do?”  Draco’s grey eyes blazed with hatred and Cass braced himself for the onslaught of Malfoy temper.  
  


“Well, well, well, what  _ do _ we have here?”  
  


Theodore Nott strode into Draco’s bedchamber and slapped his palm with his ebony cane.  Cass eyed the smooth black orb and flinched every time it sounded against the calloused hand.  He nearly bolted from the room, but instead, he grit his teeth and vowed to remain.  
  


“Oi, Nott, calm yourself, yeah?”  Cass attempted to intercept the pair on the bed, but Theo would not be dissuaded.  
  


“Warrington, perhaps you can tell me why my wife is in fucking bed with my best mate?”  Theo’s voice was cool, quite calm really, but they all knew better.  
  


“She was overwhelmed is all.  You see, there were some whisperings in the Ministry as to her garb.  I know that appearances mean everything to us.  I took it upon myself to escort her to a facility to tend to the issues.  They might have been slightly overzealous, and she worked herself into quite a state.  She was near tears when she spoke of your reactions and Malfoy here was forced to comfort her.”

  
Theo’s pale blue eyes darkened to indescribable depths and Cass shivered from the pure venom in his glare.  Theo stepped toward the bed and Cass couldn’t stand another moment.  He gagged on the bile lodged in his throat as the memories of his childhood washed over him in an unrelenting cascade of torture.  
  


“Nott—“  
  


“No need to run interference, Warrington.  I do believe I can manage from here,”  Theo’s disdain rang in his ears and Cass shook his head as he stumbled from the room.  
  


Hermione’s eyelashes fluttered and she was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact she was delicately sat on Draco Malfoy’s lap.  The horror that splashed across her face caused Draco’s heart to clench and Theo’s lips to widen in some semblance of a smile.  Hermione gulped guilty and refused to look to Draco for the answers.  It would only end badly for her, no need to make it worse.  
  


“Nott, it’s just as Warrington said.  There’s no need to get your wand in a knot.”  
  


“You’ll make it up to me as always, Malfoy.  I could use a bit of entertainment.  Ernie and I felt that your performances last time were lacklustre.  Do better, yes?  It would be devastating for your mother if you were whisked away to Azkaban, wouldn’t it?  Come along, wife.”  
  


Theo’s fingers snapped impatiently and Draco despised the way her entire body trembled in his arms.  He hated the way he liked her petite hands on his chest as she pushed away from him.  He hated the way he allowed his arms to fall to the feather tick, but mostly, Draco hated the cold that seeped into his bones the moment she was gone.  
  


Draco didn’t follow the Notts down the stairs.  He didn’t watch them step into his Floo.  He didn’t do anything other than stare at the indentation of his bed.  He knew he shouldn’t draw comfort from her lingering scent on his pillows, but he did.  
  


“Old parchment,”  Draco inhaled against the downy pillow and closed his eyes.  “Flowers, some sort of flowers.  I don’t know shit about fucking flowers.”  
  


“Magnolia,”  Cass offered as he delicately touched the reddened skin near his eye.  
  


“Nott clocked you, yeah?”  Draco frowned over his shoulder and Cass nodded.  
  


“Yeah, I suppose eventually I’ll learn not to interfere, but it’s so fucking hard.  I don’t know how you stand it.”  
  


Cass flounced onto the bed beside his mate and stared at the ceiling in silent contemplation.  He ignored Draco’s noisy inhales and nearly smiled.  While Cass knew Draco was fairly uncertain, he knew Draco had developed feelings toward Hermione Granger.  
  


“Haven’t got a choice.  You know how Nott is.  You really think he’d be this way if we could stop him?  Even the Ministry’s hands are tied and they love to interfere in everything.  Potter sends me fucking Howlers once a week, demanding results, but what the fuck can I do about it?  She’s property, Warrington.  It’s abysmal, but those Ancient Laws are nearly ironclad.  What the fuck is there to be done?”  
  


Draco’s voice reached epic octaves and Warrington squirmed in discomfort.  He hated everything about Granger’s situation, they both did.  It wasn’t often Cassius Warrington had more information than Draco Malfoy and he was almost tempted to dangle it before Draco’s angular nose.  He decided against it.  His desperate need for validation was overridden by the overwhelming desire to see his friend escape a situation that would eventually become deadly.  
  


“There’s a caveat, Malfoy.  There always is.  I’m surprised you haven’t discovered it.  I expected as much from Potter.  He’s useless without her, but you, I expected more,”  Cass crossed his arms with a sardonic smile painted on his full lips, quite pleased with himself.  “What would Draco Malfoy do to rescue Hermione Granger from her current predicament?”  
  


“Anything,”  Draco breathed.  He recoiled as he heard the desperation in his voice, yet he maintained his hold on the pillow that smelt of Granger.  “I’d do anything.”  
  


“Granger asked me to impregnate her.  Ow, what the fuck?  Perhaps allow me to finish before you lose your fucking mind?”  Cass rubbed his throbbing rib and flipped onto his side.  “I couldn’t do it, obviously.  I told her as much.  I adore her, but sleeping with her is absolutely out of the question.  If it were just the relations, I wouldn’t have an issue.  She’s an attractive girl, but procreation?  I don’t ever want to be a father and she deserves better than me.”  
  


“I don’t think—“  
  


“You said _anything_ , Malfoy.”  
  


Draco’s lips pressed together in an angry white line.  He struggled with much difficulty to keep the images from burning into his eyelids, but he failed miserably.  He imagined golden blonde curls and feminine laughter along with honey brown eyes and pale blond wisps.  There were countless combinations of girls and boys, and Draco wanted them all.  He wanted them with her, but he could never, never admit to such things.  It was a weakness and Nott would exploit it, any fool knew that.  
  


“My parents would murder me with their bare hands.”  
  


It sounded ridiculously childish, even to his ears, but it was the best he could do under such short notice.  Cass laughed heartily and jabbed Draco in the ribs with his wand.  
  


“What is your mummy going to do to poor wittle Dwaco?  Will she take away his broom?  Perhaps she’ll thrash his bottom, but he might like that.  Merlin knows I wouldn’t mind a sound spanking from the delectable Narcissa Malfoy,”  Cass wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
  


* * *

 

Meanwhile, the Nott household wasn’t filled with boyish laughter and barely concealed sarcastic barbs.  It wasn’t lighthearted discussions on Draco Malfoy’s future bushy haired children.  It was the sound of stone meeting flesh and harsh breaths.  It was sobbing gasps and laboured breathing.  It was just another night in Devil’s Lair and Theodore Nott wielded his fiery abhorrence with a vengeance.  
  


“I always knew you were a whore,”  Theo hissed.  
  


Hermione covered her mouth to keep from spouting her thoughts.  It was something she had learned over the years.  Her thoughts weren’t appreciated.  Her intelligence was a hindrance more than an asset.  Her laughter was something frowned upon and despised.  
  


“Not going to defend yourself?  My, my how the mighty have fallen.”  
  


“You’re the one that wished me to choose one of your mates to shag,”  Hermione’s honey brown eyes widened in alarm and she hastily backed away from her husband.  
  


“Oh I see, it’s my fault is it?”  Theo’s fist clenched and then he paused.  “I suppose that is true, isn’t it?  I never imagined you’d choose Malfoy.”  He chuckled and slapped his wand onto the side table nearest the hearth.  “First, I’m going to fuck the insolence out of you.”  
  


“No.”  
  


“I’ll enjoy it far less than you, but sacrifices must be made.  If you would just fucking  _ breed _ the way any good witch would, we wouldn’t have these issues, would we,  _ Hermione _ ?”  Theo stalked toward her slowly and his eyes glinted in the din.  
  


“I have!  It’s not my fault you’re displeased with—“  
  


Hermione’s words were cut short by a sharp stinging blow to her cheek.  Ordinarily, she’d be surprised by such actions, but no longer.  She barely felt it and shook her head even as she felt it begin to swell.  
  


As Theo paced angrily, she wondered how her life had turned into this.  She wasn’t always this way.  There had been a time when she had been strong, determined, and filled with the vigour of life.  
  


The loneliness of returning to Hogwarts had been overwhelming, to say the least.  The corridors she had once loved were filled with dark shadows and harrowing memories laced with death.  It hadn’t the comfort.  It was no longer home.  It was a constant reminder of everything that had been lost and it ate away at her until there was barely a shell of a witch remaining.  
  


Of course, it provided ample opportunity for Theodore Nott to step in and seemingly save her from the wrath of Ginny Weasley.  The tormenting and jeers had ended, only to be replaced with the kindness of Theo.  Hermione hadn’t understood Malfoy’s abrupt ending of their newfound friendship and that had hurt as well.  Theo was all she had, which was exactly the way he wanted it.  
  


“I require a son,”  Theo snarled.  
  


His fingers dug into the back of her throat as he forced her forward.  He smiled when her stomach struck the dining table.  He allowed her to gasp for a few moments and his thoughts strayed to Ernie.  He pictured enticing abdominals slick with sweat and was relieved when his cock hardened in his trousers.  
  


“It isn’t my fault,”  Hermione stated.  
  


“Disrobe.”  
  


She closed her eyes.  It was easier if her eyes were closed.  She comforted herself with the knowledge that Theo didn’t enjoy touching her.  He had a slight affinity for her breasts, but nothing more than that.  Hermione was a vessel and even as Theo forced her face down onto the table, she knew it.  
  


“Wait, I’m not ready!”  
  


Hermione winced against the painful intrusion and focused on the glaring portrait on the wall.  Cantankerous Nott glowered at her with the derision befitting his Pureblood nature.  It was slightly comforting to know he detested his grandson almost as much, due to Theo’s proclivities.  
  


She hated her body.  She hated the way its biological defence was to respond to Theo’s harsh thrusts, knowing he would humiliate her.  Her nipples hardened against her wishes and scraped against the table.  Her hips throbbed with the force of his grip and it wasn’t over soon enough.  
  


Theo withdrew hastily and yanked Hermione into an upright position by her hair.  He wasn’t satisfied, not by a long shot.  He felt dirty for sullying himself with her, but he  _ needed _ an heir.  He needed to be rid of her, but not before securing an heir.  
  


“Take solace in the fact the moment you bear me a son, I’ll wipe your pitiful existence from the face of the earth.”  
  


Hermione’s bruised and battered body trembled, but not with fear.  It was the natural response to the abhorrence bestowed upon her daily.  Secretly, she wished for the day Theo would go too far.  Perhaps she would find peace in her next life.  
  


“Was there ever a time, even in its smallest measure that you loved me?”  Hermione whimpered as Theo’s fingers twisted in her curls.  
  


He snarled angrily and pulled forcefully, pleased with the pitiful whimper that escaped her swollen lips.  With the slightest bit of effort, Theo dragged his property across the unforgiving black marble floors and tossed her at the bottom of the stairs in a heap.  He was pleased by the harsh thunk when she hit the bottom step.  
  


“Loved you?  I think perhaps I struck you harder than I believed,”  Theo laughed without mirth and carefully patted his midnight locks.  “As if I could ever love a Muggle like you.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recognisable dialogue = borrowed from Ever After


	8. Dividere

Dividere  
May 2001

* * *

 

Hermione squirmed as Narcissa Malfoy walked around her slowly with a critical eye.  She was ill at ease in the sequined gown the blonde witch had forced on her.  While she knew it didn’t necessarily break the rules, it was quite fitted.

  
“I don’t know why he insisted upon the collar,”  Narcissa sniffed and fingered the black leather encircled around Hermione’s throat.  “The least he could have done was affixed a gem.”

  
“It isn’t meant to be pretty,”  Hermione whispered.

  
“I know, I apologise.”

  
Narcissa pursed her lips and set to task.  She smoothed the rowdy curls with Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, quite pleased with the results.  It was a simple matter to twist the curls around her wand and murmur a Charm to set them.  Narcissa enjoyed fussing over the girl, even if she was skittish and withdrawn.  
  


“This isn’t necessary.  Theo won’t appreciate your efforts,”  Hermione folded her hands in her lap and avoided a single glance into the vanity.   
  


“I’m not doing this for Theo, dear.  I always wanted a daughter.  Lucius and I, we tried for years and years to have Draco.  It wasn’t advised we try again.  I’m sure you understand.”   
  


Narcissa gently arranged the mass of shiny curls into some semblance of order.  She wanted to gift the girl a diamond-studded hair clasp but knew it would only cause Hermione more harm than good.  She had done all she could do, really.   
  


She had enjoyed having another woman’s company, even if it was for a short time.  Narcissa knew the girl was uneasy and also suspected her son’s affections ran deeper than he was willing to admit.  It wouldn’t end well for him if the Contract couldn’t be broken and Draco was absolutely adamant in his refusal.  It was a shame really, though she’d never admit it.   
  


“Did it help?”  Hermione finally met the blue eyes in the mirror.  “Having Draco, did it help?”   
  


“Yes, I suppose it did, why do you ask?”  Narcissa placed her hands on Hermione’s shoulders but knew better than to squeeze.   
  


“Theo tells me he wants an heir, but I know he doesn’t, not with me.  He’s uhm, well he’s managed to end every pregnancy because he wants a son.  I lied to him once.  I couldn’t bear the thought of having his child.  I was angry and lost my temper.  It was the last time I really felt angry with him.  I know better now,”  Hermione paused and it was then that Narcissa softly squeezed Hermione’s shoulders.   
  


“How many?”  asked the Matriarch.   
  


“Three.  The first two  _ were _ girls and he was so angry.  The first time he resorted to Muggle violence.  He was disgusted that he had lowered himself, but he also said it was justified because I’m not even a Mudblood anymore,”  Hermione laughed without mirth and Narcissa cringed from the sound of the offensive word.  “I knew he’d be happy with a son, even if it was a Halfblood child.  I didn’t want him to be happy.  Why should he get to be happy when I’m so fucking miserable?  I thought he’d check himself.  Isn’t that silly?  I honestly never believed he’d simply take my word for it, but he did.  He used the Cruciatus Curse for so long, I’m surprised I’ve a speck of sanity left.  It wasn’t nearly as bad as Bellatrix Lestrange though, I suppose that’s what made the difference.  He didn’t mean it enough, how sad is that?  Even with all his hate, Theo doesn’t hate me more than Bellatrix did.”   
  


Hermione refused to cry.  She had shed enough tears for her deceased children.  She had shed enough tears for the life she led.  She hated herself almost as much as she hated her husband.   
  


“There’s a caveat to the Contract, Ms Granger, that might prove to be beneficial if—”   
  


“If what?  Let’s really talk about that, shall we?  I mean, in order to have a slim chance of escape, I’ve got to find a wizard willing to sleep with me.  Of course, first, he’d have to remove the Contraceptive Charm.  Then, I’d have to what exactly?  I’ve already approached Cass and he turned me down.  I’m rarely allowed to socialise and never without supervision.  My options are ridiculously limited,”  Hermione’s words were laced with venom and while Narcissa knew she shouldn’t press forward, she did anyway.   
  


“Draco—“   
  


“Don’t, please don’t.  It’s humiliating enough I can’t even properly recall what happened between us.  He’s avoided me nearly successfully since then and I can’t blame him.  If I had other employment opportunities, I would have resigned.  I love research, but the awkward tension is nearly unbearable.  Perhaps, I should consider it.  Theo would be thrilled and I hate to make him happy, but at the same time, I’m not sure scouring tomes for obscure Potion ingredients is worth it.”   
  


“He was embarrassed and it wasn’t a familiar feeling for him,”  Narcissa stroked the exposed line of Hermione’s neck and sighed.  “He refused to speak of it with me and I haven’t pushed the issue.”   
  


“Why are you being so nice to me?  I was always under the impression that you believed me to be beneath you, but this week, you’ve been exceedingly kind and I don’t understand,”  Hermione stood shakily and eyed the black stilettos warily.   
  


“There was a time when I was nothing more than a pawn in a chess game I wasn’t even playing.  My husband was tortured.  My son was branded.  I was beaten and abused.  It was a dark time and it was easier to hate, simply to survive.  I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t prejudiced against those less than Pureblood, I was.  I know better now.  There are moments when the word Mudblood flits to mind, I won’t deny that.  Part of me would still prefer my son marry a dignified Pureblood witch, but I’d much rather he be happy.  I’m no longer interested in the manners in which my son finds comfort.  He’s emotionally stunted, but I know my son and he cares about you,”  Narcissa shook her head and blinked quickly.  “Now, this is entirely too heavy a conversation.  Let’s move onto makeup.”   
  


Hermione nodded and allowed the conversation to move on to lighter things.  She didn’t care about accentuating her cheekbones or bringing out the golden hue in her hair.  She didn’t care that her eyes had flecks of green in them and with the correct application of a good eyeliner, they would shine.   
  


“I’d give up my magic forever if it meant I could be free,”  Hermione sighed heavily.   
  


“I can’t help but wonder what happened to Theo to make him this way.  He was a sweet boy once and to think he does these awful things to the woman he married,”  Narcissa trailed off and her shoulders slumped with heaviness.   
  


“He used to think it was funny.  He held all the cards and he knew it.  It was just this game to him and to say no was unthinkable.  It didn’t matter who was there and how dirty it felt.  It kept things from being violent and there reaches a point where you’re willing to do almost  _ anything _ to avoid the violence.  There’s nowhere to go and no one to tell.  There’s nothing to be done about it and it is the singular most powerless moment to realise it.  I know that one day he’s going to kill me and I almost can’t wait because at least it will be peaceful then.  Excuse me if I have difficulty reflecting upon my husband’s sweeter days,”  The slight flicker of life vanished in a singular breath and Hermione’s lips parted in silent shock as she realised exactly what she had shared.   
  


Narcissa didn’t respond.  There wasn’t anything she could say to ease the woman’s anguish.  She vowed to discover the intricate secret to dissolving the Magical Binding.  It was the least she could do.  She couldn’t free the girl.  Her son refused to entertain the idea of unwed procreation, but perhaps, with all her Slytherin cunning and intelligence, Narcissa could unearth the coveted secret to releasing Hermione Granger’s magic.   
  


While Narcissa contemplated stealth, Hermione was busy recalling her days within the Manor.  Hermione hadn’t spent much time with Draco during the day.  He’d even refused her request to work.  Instead, she spent her time sitting in the garden, eating entirely too much, and reading the pages of as many books as she could.   
  


At night, she ate dinner with the Malfoys and took long, luxurious baths filled with scented oils.  The house elves, Binky especially, had taken quite the liking to her.  The tiny little elf would bring Hermione a small service late at night with tea and finger sandwiches.  She enjoyed the pampering she knew wouldn’t, couldn’t last.   
  


Of course, she woke every night.  The gasping and sobs ripped through her chest.  Hermione’s limbs would tremble and she was barely able to crawl to the washroom.  The cool water she splashed on her face didn’t calm the rapid pounding of her heart.  Eventually, she’d climb back into the softest four-poster in existence, wearing fresh pyjamas.   
  


It was then, when he believed her to be asleep, that Draco Malfoy would turn the handle and slip into her room.  Hermione knew he was there, but she was mortified that she had woken him.  She’d pretend to be sleeping as he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair.  It comforted her in a small way.  It made her feel as though someone in the world actually cared about her.   
  


Her last evening within the confines of Malfoy Manor, Draco had slipped beneath the coverings.  He hadn’t made any sort of advances or been untoward, but he also hadn’t waited until the screaming began.  Hermione had extinguished her light and turned on her side when the door had slowly creaked open.  She held her breath and then he was behind her.   
  


She wanted to break the silence, but she also didn’t want him to leave.  It was easier to remain silent.  She’d had so much practice with her husband after all.  She tried not to shudder when she felt his cold hand caress her shoulder, but she trembled anyway.   
  


__ “Shhh,”  Draco whispered.  “It’s alright.  You’re alright.”  
  


Hermione had never truly shared a bed with a wizard before that night.  Theo kept to his own rooms and she wasn’t allowed to step foot into them.  With Draco, it was different.  It was easy to sink into his hard chest and thread her fingers through his.  She liked the way his arm felt beneath her pillow and his warm breath on her neck.  It was easy to drift away to the sound of Draco’s breaths and when she woke in the morning, Hermione realised it was the first night in years that she hadn’t woke screaming.   
  


“Mother?”  Draco strode into his mother’s bedchamber with a heavy frown of displeasure.  “Why does Granger look like she’s ready to attend one of your charity functions?”   
  


“I-I tried to tell her it wasn’t that sort of event—“   
  


“Yes, but my mother does as she pleases.  I know, Granger.  You don’t need to explain it to me.”   
  


“I’m sorry,”  Hermione lowered her head sadly.   
  


“Stop apologising.  It isn’t your fault,”  Draco rolled his grey eyes and turned to his disapproving mother.  “Can you perhaps, alter the gown?  I know you don’t want to and ordinarily, I wouldn’t ask, but I really don’t need Theo any angrier.”   
  


Narcissa’s eyes narrowed quite dangerously and even Draco had enough sense to retreat.  He gasped when she drew her wand and even flinched when it was pointed at Hermione.  Hermione braced herself for pain and it saddened Narcissa to see it splashed across the pretty girl’s face.   
  


“That’s bloody amazing,”  Draco breathed.   
  


Hermione was startled by the subtle waft of magic as it washed over her.  She felt the gown lighten in weight and shorten in length.  Her hair now brushed the bare skin of her back and she was afraid to look at her reflection.   
  


“It isn’t red,”  Hermione breathed.   
  


“Of course it isn’t red, that’s entirely too predictable.  Then again, green would have been the obvious choice and I prefer subtlety.  This particular shade of blue suits your skin tone and brings out the lowlights in your hair,”  Narcissa waved her hand airily and removed herself from the situation.   
  


She hadn’t the slightest desire to watch her son gape over the transformed brunette.  Her stomach clenched painfully and she paused in the corridor.  Slowly, almost as if she had second thoughts, Narcissa drew her wand from the sleeve of her puce robes.  It was a simple spell and she knew Theo hadn’t considered anything more intricate.  Why waste his magic on a Muggle?  Therefore, it took barely a moment for its removal.   
  


“Cissa?”   
  


She waited until Hermione and Draco emerged from the bedchamber, thankfully, no worse for wear.  While Draco might have frowned slightly on the knowing smile decorating his mother’s lips, Narcissa knew she couldn’t hold his attention.  She was still, and would probably always be conflicted as far as Hermione Granger was concerned, but she did so enjoy seeing the apathy dissolve from Draco’s demeanour.   
  


“We’re here, Lucius.”   
  


It was nary a moment later and the grandfather clock struck the hour.  The tension was palpable as Hermione knew this was goodbye.  She was grateful for their kindness, as well as for the information she had gleaned.  It didn’t abate her feelings of hopelessness, but it also made it bearable.   
  


“Mr Nott has taken it upon himself to wait in the parlour.  He wishes to thank us for our hospitality and indulge in libation before—“  Lucius coughed lightly into his fist.   
  


“Dividere,”  Draco hissed.   
  


“Y-you told them?”  Hermione struggled to maintain her precarious hold on her emotions, but she faltered.   
  


“How are we to help you if you withhold pertinent information, Ms Granger?”  Narcissa patted the girl’s shoulder and patted her smooth bun.   
  


“What are you planning?  You can’t—“   
  


“Hermione, there you are, love,”  Theodore Nott strode into the corridor with a faux smile painted on his thin lips.   
  


He chose to ignore the way Hermione’s hand was wrapped around Draco’s forearm and bent to kiss her cheek.  His smile widened when she shuddered.  He revelled in her fear.  It was quite arousing, not that Theo liked to think of her that way.  Instead, he channelled those debaser emotions into his sessions with Ernie.   
  


“I wasn’t expecting you.  I thought we’d be meeting you at the house,”  Hermione withdrew her hand from Draco with regret and quivered as she stared into her husband’s cold blue eyes.   
  


“Change of plans, darling.  It would be incredibly rude of me if I didn’t properly thank the Malfoys for their hospitality.  Perhaps a nightcap before we’re off?”  Theo drew his wife into his side and waited for the elder Malfoy to respond.   
  


Lucius, in his infinite wisdom, kept the scathing retorts aching to burst forth stoically concealed.  He turned on his heel toward the parlour and knew they would follow.  Despite his distaste for the wizard, Lucius knew it was best to keep him close.   
  


He averted his gaze, yet managed to keep a careful eye on Theodore Nott.  While the abusive fiend was clever, Lucius had decades of experience.  His eyebrows arched when Theo withdrew a phial from his waistcoat and through the use of a syringe, sprinkled a few drops into a cup of tea.   
  


“Come have your tea, dear,”  Theo commanded.   
  


Hermione did as she was bid, knowing a refusal would end badly for her.  She had learned to school her features from the biting aftertaste.  Despite her lack of magic, Hermione was still an intelligent woman.  She knew Theo added something to her tea, but damned if she knew what it was.   
  


The pool of apprehension that took up permanent residence in her stomach receded and it was only then that she suspected something truly nefarious.  Hermione’s golden brown eyes slid toward Lucius and he blinked ever so slowly.  The pity was nearly overwhelming, therefore it was easy to step into Theo’s harsh embrace and allow him to Apparate them.   
  


“I’m going to entrust you to Malfoy this evening.  Do try not to disappoint.  I’m feeling very Purple tonight and I’d like you kept as far from me as possible.  I do believe Red would suit you both,”  Theo snickered nastily and shoved his wife toward the hidden entrance.   
  


“I-I don’t know what that means,”  Hermione stumbled in her heels and it was Draco Malfoy that caught her before she struck the pavement.   
  


“Take her away, Malfoy.  I’d prefer to spend my evening wrapped around Ernie.  Do be sure to explain the format.  I’ve already instructed them to place her Red.  Enjoy her while you can,”  Theo winked and swaggered into the growing collection of patrons.   
  


“I’m sorry,”  Hermione shifted her weight between her feet as they waited for their assignment.  “I don’t know what sort of leverage he’s got over you, but I’m sorry.  I know—“   
  


“Shut up, Granger.  This isn’t your fault.  It’s mine for ever trusting him.  It’s mine for giving up on you.  I shouldn’t have given up on you.  We were friends once, it could have really been something, but I was still so conflicted.  I didn’t know if there was anything worth fighting for and it’s too late now, isn’t it?  We’re both imprisoned in our own way in a trap laid by Theodore Nott,”  Draco gently wiped the tear from her cheek, overwhelmed with his own sadness as well as hers.   
  


Draco dutifully handed his wand to the wizard manning the door.  The burly wizard glowered at Hermione until Theo whispered in the man’s ear.  It was disconcerting to see the change in the jowls of his face.  
  


“Two for Red,”  His gravelly voice snarled to his companion.   
  


Hermione followed Draco’s lead and offered her right arm.  The stocky companion snorted and grasped her left wrist.  She watched carefully as a white wristlet as slapped against her skin.  She felt the magic hum for a nanosecond as it pulsed through the various colours before it settled on blood red.   
  


The infernal student residing within her wished to study the magic further, but she hadn’t the time.  She was quickly dragged through the flashing lights and faux laughter toward a seemingly empty corner.  Hermione was intrigued by the tinkling of glasses and desperately wished for a drink.   
  


“Fuck,”  Draco rasped.   
  


He slammed his fist on the red wall and Hermione swallowed hard when the door disappeared.  She quickly looked around at the intimately small space and a terrible feeling crept up the back of her neck.  Her brown curls swirled around her head as she violently shook it back and forth while the lights dimmed.   
  


“What’s happening?  I want to leave.  I don’t like small spaces, he knows that.  He did this on purpose.”   
  


Draco ignored her.  It was easier to ignore her.  He flounced onto the sinfully comfortable armchair and reclined upon it.  He crossed his feet at the ankles and tucked his hands behind his head.  He hated to admit it, but Theo and Ernie had done marvellously when they chose these particular furnishings.   
  


“It’s Dividere, Granger.  Be thankful he didn’t set us in Green,”  He groaned.  “It’s simple really.  Green is anything goes.  Yellow has some limits, I can’t provide details as I avoid every fucking colour.  Purple is bondage and the like.  Black, as far as I can recall, it’s the actual show we’re meant to see as we’re in Red.  Red is for voyeurs, but I’m sure Theo’s planned something for us,”  Draco rotated his wrist and kept his eyes on the blank wall in front of him.   
  


Hermione walked around the chair and wobbled on her heels.  Draco yanked on her wrist and pulled her into his lap.  He knew it was expected of him and he’d rather not ignite Theo’s ire if it could be helped.   
  


“I took it upon myself to bring you some libation.  The glasses will refill as needed,”  Theo’s disembodied voice swirled around their head even as the wall receded.

 

The thick plate glass revealed nothing more than an empty stage, for which Hermione was quite grateful.  A silver tray emerged from a hidden slot and two glasses appeared, filled to the brim with an enticing amber liquid.  The air in the small space was suddenly cool and Hermione shivered.   
  


“Don’t drink—“  Draco tried to stop her, but Hermione was so thirsty, it was too late, “dammit.”   
  


“I know it’s drugged.  Everything Theo gives me is laced with something, but I’ve got to drink, Malfoy.  Knowing Theo the way I do, I’m sure the air he has pumped into the space will be laced with something as well.  We’re fucked,”  Hermione’s resignation to their situation made Draco feel cold inside.   
  


Draco leant forward in order to retrieve his glass and paused.  The heat of her bare back against his shirt felt all sorts of wrong with the crisp air around them.  His hand grasped Hermione’s thigh to keep her in place and under different circumstances, it would have been quite sensual.   
  


“How do you manage?”  Draco asked quietly.   
  


Hermione sighed and lowered her head.  She stared at the pale hand against her thigh and almost wished it wanted to be there.  She knew from her first deep inhale there was something in the air.  She could taste it on her tongue.  
  


“I pretend I’m someone else.  Anyone else, really and it helps somewhat.  I’ve only got one rule and you should know what it is before the show begins.”   
  


Draco greedily gulped his drink and groaned as it burned down his throat.  He knew his thumb was spinning circles on Hermione’s supple skin and he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted too.  It was a culmination of everything.  
  


The slits of her flowing skirts with every step definitely had a hand in his distraction.  The nearly scandalous V that nearly showcased her breasts was just another cause for his breath to catch in his throat.  The overwhelming scent of magnolias filled his nostrils and it was then he noticed his nose against her throat.   
  


“Tell me,”  he implored.   
  


“There’s no kissing allowed.  I know it sounds silly in the grand scheme of things, but—“   
  


“It’s intimate,”  Draco breathed.  “When was the last time, if you don’t mind me asking?”   
  


“My wedding day,”  Hermione placed her empty glass on the silver tray and watched it fill with greedy eyes.   
  


“That’s depressing, Granger.”   
  


Draco blinked away from the bright light stemming from the platform.  He had stepped into Dividere once before and found it distasteful, to say the least.  It was less so with Hermione Granger wedged across his thighs, but it still felt inherently dirty.   
  


“Yes, it really is, but I’m powerless.  I’ve learned that lesson already.  Eventually, he’ll kill me and I’ll wind up some footnote in a forgotten story,”  Hermione downed another glass and leant back against his chest.   
  


She wasn’t the least bit interested in the scantily clad women being paraded before them.  She refocused her eyes and focused on the man beneath her.  He was harder than Theo, not that she touched him often.  His hands were mesmerizing and her widened eyes refused to be drawn away from his fingers caressing her thighs in a hypnotic motion.   
  


Hermione covered his hand with hers and he stilled, but that’s not what she wanted.  She threaded her fingers through his and moved them.  The left hand pushed at the hem of her slinky dress, while the right roved across her abdomen to stop at her breast.   
  


“How many times has he made you do this?”  Draco uncrossed his legs and dropped his head back against the headrest.   
  


“One other time, but this time is different.  I know him, Malfoy.  He wants utter and complete control.  He wants to show me exactly what I want and tear it away from me.  He wants me broken and he’s winning.  He hoped he could accomplish that with Cass, but he was wrong.  I love Cass and it wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but that wasn’t enough.  He had Ernie alter Cass’ memories, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to him,”  Hermione watched a particularly pretty blonde toss her top to the floor and climb astride an eager wizard.   
  


“It’s very hard to concentrate with my hand on your breast, Granger,”  Draco flushed because he knew she could feel his erection against her.  “You can’t believe Theo believes you want  _ me _ .”   
  


“That’s the point, Malfoy,”  Hermione released his hands in order to grip his thighs.  “No, I’m not stupid, Malfoy.  I know you don’t like me.  I know you barely tolerate me.  You’ve been that blatantly obvious with your avoidances.  I also know he’s holding something over you and that makes him feel powerful.”   
  


Draco knew she was speaking, but his thumb slipped beneath the shimmery fabric of her dress.  He no longer wished to converse.  He wished to feel.  The writhing witches on the other side of the glass couldn’t draw his attention away from the softness of the woman in his arms.   
  


He bent his head and drew the bow that fastened Hermione’s dress between his teeth.  He tugged and watched the halter-top slide against her and fall into her lap.  Dusky points that had hardened in the cool air greeted him and Draco wanted to taste them.   
  


He liked the way she sighed, even if it was all pretend.  He liked the way she tilted her head to give him access to her neck.  He was quite fond of the way her skin tasted on his tongue, the way her breasts felt in his hands, but it wasn’t enough.   
  


“Open your legs.”   
  


Draco’s hoarse whisper filled her ears and she complied.  She hadn’t the strength or even the want to resist his request.  It was years of being beneath Theo’s thumb, but it was also more than that.  It was the pheromones in the air as well as her Potion-laced tea, but it was also want.   
  


“Where are your knickers?”  Draco chuckled against her jaw.   
  


“He vanished them,”  she moaned.   
  


Draco didn’t utter the ‘fuck’ he wanted to when he discovered how wet she was.  Her delightful dress interfered with his ability to see what he was doing.  It wasn’t a requirement to see, but he found the act incredibly erotic.  
  


Theo’s diabolical laugh filled the air.  He couldn’t have been happier with how easily they succumbed to his desires.  Of course, it wasn’t enough.  It was never enough.  He wanted them filled with desire  _ and _ self-loathing.   
  


“If you fuck her, I will discipline her.  If she comes, I will discipline her.  Tread carefully, Malfoy.”   
  


Theo flicked his wand and the scene disappeared.  He had absolutely no desire to watch Draco Malfoy pant after the filthy Mudblood.  It was a personal affront as much as it was against everything they’d been taught to believe.  He gagged in disgust and turned his attention back to his lover.   
  


“Why do you never let him fuck her?  I thought you loved me, only me.  What does it matter if he fucks her?  You don’t care about her at all, you told me so.  Were you lying to me?”  Ernie knelt between Theo’s lithe thighs and stared up at the object of his affection.   
  


“Because he wants her, that’s why.”  Theo dragged his fingers through Ernie’s mussed hair and tugged him toward his bared erection.  “He loves her.  He doesn’t know he does, but I know.  Watch the teeth darling, yes, just like that.  For the first time in my life, I have something Draco Malfoy wants and I do enjoy toying with him.”   
  


Ernie hummed in acceptance while his lips moved and his tongue swirled.  He felt powerful even if he was on his knees.  His soft hands squeezed the smooth skin of Theo’s arse just before he raked his fingernails lightly on the underside of willing thighs.  He loved to watch Theo’s pleasure and listen to the stuttered pants of desire.   
  


“If you let him have her, we could be happy,”  Ernie watched Theo’s cock bob when he released it from his lips and then he climbed up his lover’s glistening body.   
  


“I’m quite conflicted about it really.  He’s my brother and I love him; and yet, I hate him.  I hate his perfect precious little life.  I hate his riches.  I hate the way witches and wizards alike fawn over him.  I fucking hate him, but perhaps you’re right.  I’m due a bit of happiness, Ernie,”  Theo embraced his lover gently and drew the blonde down for a sweet kiss.  “Of course, I’d actually require an heir and the idea of shoving my cock into her womanly bits again is enough to put me off sex for life.”   
  


“Subterfuge, my love,”  Ernie teased Theo, knowing it would drive him mad.  “The documents do not specify that the child must be yours by blood, now does it?”  Ernie moaned as he eased his cock into Theo’s waiting bottom.   
  


Theo would have agreed to anything in that moment and Ernie knew it.  His lean body moved achingly slow and he smiled.  Theo’s lips parted and his fingers dug into the leather beneath them as his cock stood proudly between them.  Ernie waited until Theo’s hand strayed and just as his lover began to stroke, he slammed into him, eliciting a strangled moan.   
  


“Yes!”  Theo shouted.  “It doesn’t say!  It doesn’t have to be mine, you’re brilliant.  You’re brilliant, please, please fuck me.”   
  


Ernie’s sinister smile made him feel alive as he thrust.  There was nothing he loved more than watching Theodore Nott lose his cool demeanour and beg while in the throes of passion.  The sweat lingering in the folds of his tight abdominals was enough to make him come, but he withheld to torture his love.   
  


“You realise, you’ll have to fuck her,”  Ernie crooned as Theo thrashed his head to and fro.   
  


“You’re ruining it!”  Theo grasped his own cock and vigorously stroked it, silently pleading with it to remain erect.   
  


“Lessen the tether, lover.  Give her a false sense of safety.  Let her fall in love with Malfoy and then,”  Ernie moaned, “then tear it from her tenuous grasp and watch your little Mudblood break.”   
  


Theo concentrated on the heated whisper and the feel of Ernie’s cock filling him.  He clenched his muscles and arched his back with a guttural moan.  He felt Ernie spill into him and with a quick squeeze and a harsh tug, Theo spurted onto his stomach.  He winced when Ernie withdrew and dropped his legs to the ground, hoping they’d regain feeling soon.   
  


“Fuck you’re fantastic and brilliant as well,”  Theo yanked Ernie down to him and slanted his mouth across his lover’s.  It was a battle of the tongues and Ernie allowed Theo to win, just this once.  “I love you.”   
  


Ernie winked saucily and ruffled Theo’s damp dark hair before he breathed,  “I know.”

 


	9. Session 83

**Session 83  
** **Hermione Granger  
** **June 2001**

* * *

 

_ Lovely to see you again, Ms Granger.  
  
_

I don’t care.  I don’t want to be here.  I have nothing to say to you.  In fact, I’m simply going to stare at the wall until our time is up.  
  


_ You’ve been saying that every week since you missed that session.  I’ve grown tired of it.  Tell me about your work.  Tell me about your employer.  Tell me about your husband.  Tell me about that wizard you fancy.  Tell me something.  
  
_

I don’t fancy him!  
  


_ Out of everything I said, that’s the only thing you heard.  Interesting.  
  
_

Why don’t you shove your wand straight up your arse?  Oh wait, you haven’t one.  Did they snap it or do they have it on display somewhere to taunt you with it?  
  


_ That was cruel, Hermione.  
  
_

Go fuck yourself, Gemma.  
  


_ He’s raised the stakes, hasn’t he?  Is that why you’re so very prickly?  You’ve not been covered in bruises or hiding beneath scarves these past few weeks.  I was hopeful your husband had ceased his abuses for the time being but it’s something else now, isn’t it?  
  
_

Honestly?  It isn’t my husband that’s the issue, which is strange to admit.  He’s been almost kind since that evening in the sex club.  He even brushed my hair for me.  It feels stupid to say it aloud, but I always loved when he’d brush my hair.  It made me feel precious.  
  


_ But?  
  
_

I don’t know.  Something’s off.  He’s never  _ this _ kind.  He allows Cass to transport me to work.  He allows me to visit with Harry.  He’s encouraged me to have friends to tea.  He’s kissed my cheek and tucked me into bed.  He’s not like that.  He’s planning something.  I’d rather he be harsh and angry than kind.  The kindness is what scares me.  I keep pushing the limits just so I can see a glimpse of the man I know, but he just smiles.  He bloody smiles!  
  


_ It seems as though the bulk of your issues are your husband, Hermione.  What else?  
  
_

He keeps looking at me.  He keeps touching me.  He’s not untoward or anything, but it’s all very confusing.  I don’t know what he wants from me.  I don’t know if this is some ploy or if he’s under my husband’s influences.  I hate it.  I hate all of it.  
  


_ Your employer is harassing you?  Do I understand that correctly?  
  
_

No, he’s not.  It’s all harmless, I suppose.  Perhaps it’s all in my head and it means nothing, except it means something to me and I just want him to stop.  
  


_ Are you positive you want him to stop?  
  
_

Yes!  No, I’m not actually.  I just don’t like feeling things.  He makes me feel things I’d forgotten.  He makes my heart pound just from standing beside me.  I blush every time he looks at me.  When his hand grazes mine, I pull away as though I’ve been burned.  I don’t know how to deal with any of this.  I’m married.  I shouldn’t be feeling anything toward someone that isn’t my shitty husband, right?  
  


_ Hermione, this is a safe place.  I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do or what you should or shouldn’t feel.  You know your marriage is unhealthy.  You know it’s a dangerous situation.  You haven’t felt the flutters of love in a very long time, if ever and I’m not saying you love this man you fancy, but there is potential there.  
  
_

What does it matter how I feel?  What does it matter?  I can’t get out.  I’ve bloody well tried.  My husband drags me back and the punishments are excruciating.  I didn’t use to be this way.  I had plans.  I had dreams.  I wanted to be more than I am.  I’m nothing and he deserves more than nothing.  I’m not worth it.  
  


_ I think it’s his right to decide what he wants or what he doesn’t want.  Perhaps, you should broach the subject with him.  If the affections you believe he bestows upon you are all in your head, you need to know.  If the affections are actually born of an attraction, you also need to know.  
  
_

Why?  Why do I need to know?!  
  


_ Hermione.  
  
_

Alright.  If it’s all in my head then I have the ability to put it aside and concentrate on my work and formulating an escape plan that could actually work.  If it’s reality and he’s actually attracted to me, I have decisions to make that I don’t have to address until I have all the facts.  Satisfied?  
  


_ Quite.  Are you ever going to tell me what happened at Dividere?  
  
_

Nothing.  Nothing happened.  My husband interrupted and the object of my affections bolted.  I’ve been dangling on the precipice of relief for weeks, but I can’t make myself do it.  I want the completion, but it feels wrong.  
  


_ You want him to do it.  
  
_

Gods, I really do fancy him.  This is a disaster.  
  


* * *

 

Theodore Nott hummed happily while he kept a careful eye on the house elves.  He could have left such things to Sullivan, but he wanted to ensure everything was perfect.  His dark blue eyes shone with what could be perceived as happiness, but those closest to him knew better.  
  


He knew the elder Malfoys were having a spectacular party for Draco’s birthday, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t provide his oldest friend with an equally spectacular present.  It was a simple matter to have Sullivan slowly dose Draco over time.  The poor sod hadn’t the slightest idea he was being manipulated, which made it all the better.  
  


It had been achingly difficult to refrain from striking his wife.  Merlin knows the little bint deserved it, but Theo had to play the perfect husband for a little while longer.  He’d managed to shag her on more than one occasion and hadn’t even vomited.  Theo knew his wife drew no pleasure from their coupling and it made him feel better to know she was just as disgusted as he.  He would make it up to her, eventually.  
  


“I don’t know if this is going to work,”  Ernie Macmillan sighed dramatically and rested his towel covered bum on the bureau.  
  


“Are you honestly doubting me now?”  Theo tutted.  “The last dose of Fervor is today.  I suspect by the time they’re through with tea, my Mudblood wife will be splayed naked across Malfoy’s desk.  She’ll feel guilty about it, which will afford me one last opportunity to fuck her.  Friday, I’ll feed her a fertility potion and then there’s the party.  What could possibly go wrong?”  
  


“Do you enjoy fucking her?”  Ernie adjusted the knot in his towel and kept his eyes averted from his lover.  
  


“I glamoured your face on her last time just to get through it.  Stop insinuating that I enjoy fucking a breeder.  She disgusts me.”  
  


“You could have had the Weasley girl.  We fucked her sideways in Hogwarts and she seemed to enjoy it rough,”  Ernie shrugged.  
  


“What the fuck good is a Weasley when I’ve got Granger?  No one respects the Weasleys in our circle.  Besides, I needed Granger’s galleons as well.  I don’t wish to discuss this any longer.  I’d much rather see that towel on the floor,”  Theo waggled his eyebrows and licked his lips.  
  


“Not in here.  I’m not shagging you where Malfoy is going to impregnate your wife.”  
  


“Whatever you like, my love,”  Theo swaggered from the guest room and felt Ernie’s eyes boring into his backside.  
  


* * *

 

Meanwhile, Hermione hurried from her counselling appointment to meet Cass in their prearranged location.  Her cheeks were pinkened from the exertion and her feet slipped on the slick pavement.  She grunted as a particularly portly Muggle jostled her elbow when she rounded the corner.  
  


Cass Warrington’s blond hair blew in the light breeze and Hermione smiled at the startling blue against the cloudy horizon.  He looked uncomfortable, but that was unsurprising.  It didn’t matter that he had ventured into a Muggle salon, he was still exceedingly ill at ease away **(???)** in the lay of the land beyond the Wizarding world.  There were times Hermione often wondered how they had forged a friendship in the first place.  
  


“Finally,”  Cass scoffed.  
  


Hermione’s curls bounced with a gentle shake of her head and she easily threaded her arm through his.  The silence between the two was comforting as they meandered the streets of Muggle London.  As they stepped into a narrow alley, the sky opened and the rains began to fall.  
  


“Of course,”  Hermione groaned.  
  


“It’s London,”  Cass muttered.  
  


He jerked her into his chest, despite her protests and Disapparated.  Hermione’s head pounded as the last splatters of rain splashed across her cheeks and dripped down her back.  It was a disquieting sensation and Hermione vaguely wondered if there would ever be a time when she didn’t feel quite so disoriented and ill.  
  


“About bloody time!”  
  


Draco Malfoy barely looked up from his simmering potion when his entourage stepped into his disastrous laboratory.  He snarled angrily when Hermione gasped and still his wand moved in perfect, tight, little circles.  The parchment scattered across the floor was covered in messy scrawls with numerous corrections, which only exacerbated his irritation.  
  


“Cass, gather the research and stack it neatly on the corner of the desk.  Malfoy, you’ve stirred twenty-three times from the moment we crossed the threshold.  I’m going to lower the flame on the Amortentia, otherwise, it’s going to boil over,”  Hermione snapped her fingers and suddenly the room was in motion.  
  


Cass simply flicked his wand and the disaster left in the wake of an angry Malfoy was no more.  He segued to the potions workspace and quickly inspected the brews with a frown.  The Draught of the Living Death was nearly ruined, but Hermione managed to save the Amortentia.  
  


“The Veritaserum is nearly complete, Malfoy.  Whatever you’re working on will have to wait.”  
  


“Warrington, take over for me.  Wait until it reverses direction and then immediately remove it from the flame to cool,”  Draco grunted.  
  


Hermione was infinitely intrigued by the unfamiliar potion as it swirled in a purposeful clockwise direction and when it suddenly paused with a gentle wave, she held her breath.  She wasn’t the slightest bit concerned with Draco brushing against her damp overcoat.  Her toffee eyes were alight with excitement as the potion slowly altered its course.  
  


“That’s brilliant!”  Hermione squealed the very second Cass removed the cauldron from the flame.  
  


Of course, her small movement startled Draco in the midst of carrying his cauldron to the cooling station and he stumbled.  He hissed as the scalding hot potion splashed over his left hand and his grey eyes enlarged in absolute horror as the droplets fell in a perfect arc to land on Hermione Granger’s right foot.  
  


“Fuck!”  Draco shouted.  “Cass!  Get out!”  
  


Hermione felt as though everything around her was suddenly underwater.  Malfoy’s shouting was muted and garbled.  Cass moved as though weights were lashed around his limbs and she was utterly and completely frozen.  She saw rather than felt her hands ascend to cover her mouth.  
  


Warrington wiped his hands on his denims and shoved his wand into his front pocket.  He wanted to drag Hermione with him, but the horror splashed across her flushed cheeks stopped him.  He wished he had been paying better attention.  He hadn’t the slightest idea what had occurred, but it was fairly easy to deduce it had been some sort of Potions accident.  
  


Draco set the cauldron on the cooling station and stared at his now pink hand.  It didn’t hurt, but he knew that would likely change.  He resisted the urge to inspect Granger’s foot.  He knew she’d barrage him with a flurry of questions and he couldn’t have that.  He simply needed to remain silent and everything would be fine.  
  


“Malfoy,”  Hermione began.  
  


“Don’t!”  He hissed in return, his hand suddenly began to sting as his fingernails scraped across his scalp.  
  


“What happened?”  She asked anyway and bent to inspect the bright patch of aching pink on her ankle.  
  


“You married Theo!  That’s what fucking happened!”  Draco’s voice was gravelly with the slightest trace of a screech like quality that made Hermione cringe.  
  


“The Potion…”  She gestured toward his hand and her ankle and moved toward the door.  
  


“Veritaserum.  No, you can’t leave.  Fuck, who knows what the fuck you would say.  We’ve got to wait it out, preferably in silence.”  
  


Draco pulled on his blonde strands and leant against the pristine desk with his arms crossed tensely.  He screwed his eyes shut only to keep them from betraying him by straying toward the enticing brunette.  He heard her feet slide across the carpet and hoped she chose to sit on the small flowered settee nearest the large windows.  
  


“That brew isn’t simple Veritaserum, Malfoy.  I don’t know how we’re going to remain silent when my mouth just wants to burst forth with every sordid secret I know.  What have you done?”  Hermione clamped her lips shut and literally bit her tongue to keep her thoughts safely locked away.

  
“The Ministry requested it, Granger.  Must you always think the worst of me?  Wait, don’t answer that.  They said they required a Potion they could legally use for interrogations.  Since it’s widespread knowledge that one can build up a resistance to Veritaserum, Warrington and I adjusted the ingredients.  We uhm, well we took the core idea of Inhibition, but removed the Damiana and Ashwagandha Root, as it wouldn’t do to have criminals looking to hump anything with a pulse.  It was a solid idea, Granger,”  Draco pinched his lips closed to stop the influx of words bursting forth and inhaled deeply.  
  


“You used Hawthorn for the calming effects, but I think perhaps you were heavy handed with the Kava Kava as I can taste it on my tongue and I rather wish I couldn’t,”  Hermione scraped her teeth along her tongue and crinkled her nose in displeasure.  
  


“I’ll give you something to taste on your tongue,”  Draco muttered and immediately clamped his hand over his mouth.  
  


Hermione closed her eyes.  Part of her wondered if she kept them closed, perhaps her mouth would follow suit.  She sunk onto the settee despite the fact it seemed so very far from where Draco seemed to battle with words in muted grunts and exaggerated moans.  
  


“Why don’t you?”  Hermione whimpered in distress.  
  


She felt him before she saw him, but that probably had to do with the fact her eyes were still tightly squeezed shut.  She held her breath when the cushion beside her sunk under his weight and her hands trembled as he covered them with his own.  Hermione could hear her heart traitorously pounding beneath her breast and was angry at the simple way he managed to evoke a response.  
  


“Look at me,”  he whispered.  
  


“I can’t.”  
  


“Why?”  The sultry whisper nearly had Hermione’s eyes fluttering open, but she fought it with every fibre of her being.  
  


“I’ll never want to stop,”  she breathed.  “Please, don’t ask me anything else.  It’s only going to wind up being ridiculously embarrassing for us when this illusion of attraction wears off.  You’ve seriously got to consider altering your Potion.”  
  


Hermione flinched against the warm palm as it glided across her shoulder blades.  The heat of his body caused her to feel things she’d rather not.  She frantically attempted to realign her thoughts and concentrate on identifying the Potion ingredients, until Draco licked her earlobe.  
  


“It’s much more potent when it’s hot.  It doesn’t create attraction, Granger.  It’s always been there between us, even when we wished it wasn’t.”  
  


“Y-you’re attracted to  _ me _ ?”  Hermione’s eyes flew open and his forehead was a hair’s breadth from hers as her thoughts and emotions battled within.  
  


“Considering you’re known for your brilliance, you’re exceedingly dense,”  Draco smirked, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief.  “Why on earth do you think I required tutoring?  I’m not Weasley.  I’ve built my company from the ground up and I was never particularly far behind you academically.  I bought you first editions of your favourite books.  I let you touch my hair for fuck’s sake.”  
  


“I just thought, I mean McGonagall said, I don’t,”  Hermione stammered nervously and his close proximity wasn’t helping in the least.  “I can’t think when you’re so close to me.”  
  


Rather than retreating from the obviously uncomfortable witch, Draco Malfoy slid along the settee and drew her into his side.  He was tempted to take her shaking palm and place it on his thigh, but he didn’t trust himself.  He knew he was playing with fire and yet it didn’t stop him from inhaling deeply just behind her ear.  
  


“I like it when you can’t think,”  Draco murmured.  
  


Hermione sighed as warm lips danced across her hot skin.  Her eyelids fluttered and her head lolled as the lightheadedness took over.  The breathy moan was unexpected and slowly she turned to look at Draco when he pulled away from her.  The air was thick between them and it didn’t help matters any that their eyes continuously dipped to their slightly parted lips.  
  


“I didn’t know,”  Hermione began as she attempted to extricate herself from Draco’s embrace.  “It might have been different if I had known.  I knew I had these thoughts, but I was tired of entertaining—“  She turned her head and folded her compressed lips together with an unforgiving squeeze.  
  


“Entertaining what?”  Draco gently tugged a handful of curls until she glanced at him over her shoulder.  
  


“You’re attractive.  You know you are.  You always had an influx of witches throwing themselves at you and it never had anything to do with your alliances.  They didn’t care if you were a Death Eater.  They simply looked at you and lost their ability to think.  There were moments I felt that way as well, but I never once believed the Pureblooded Draco Malfoy would ever give me a second glance,”  Hermione quickly wiped her eyes as they leaked the proof of her humiliation.  
  


“A second glance?  Fuck Granger, you were getting all the glances.  Zabini threatened my life if I uttered another word about you.  Nott would sit there silently contemplating his next conquest and then suddenly, you were his.  I can’t begin to tell you how much I hated that.  He knew.  He knew my intentions, but you agreed to be his and I couldn’t do fuckall about it.  It would have been unconscionable to pursue you after that.  It would have led to a duel and one of us would have died and then he gave you that hideous broach and it was all lost anyway,”  Draco’s chest heaved as the words tumbled from his lips and he wished he could make them stop.  
  


“I didn’t know the acceptance of the broach was an acceptance to the courtship.  I thought it was just a gift, but after that confusing moment in Hogsmeade, I confronted him.  I nearly broke it off then because of his deceit, but he begged and I—“  
  


“Was always a fucking bleeding heart,”  Draco spat.  
  


Hermione stood abruptly and inhaled slowly.  Her lips twitched with all the truths that wished to burst forth, yet she felt she had much more control over such things when she was further from Draco.  Of course, he followed her and pressed himself against her back with his fingers digging into her hips.  
  


“I made a mistake.  I know I did.  I’m so bloody miserable the only bright spot in my day is coming here and even that is tainted because there’s nothing I want more than to—“  Hermione angrily mumbled into her hands as they slapped against her lips.  
  


Draco tugged her blouse from the confines of the tight waistband of her pencil skirt.  He hated her skirts, only because he could barely tear his eyes from her.  He liked the way she shivered the very second his fingers grazed her bare skin.  He liked the effect he had on her, and even though he knew it was wrong, inherently wrong, nothing had ever felt so utterly and completely right.  
  


“Why don’t you want me to kiss you?”  Draco changed the subject, knowing it would confuse her and Hermione was always the most honest when she was completely unaware.  
  


“Because I’ll never want to stop,”  Hermione gasped.  
  


She wondered when the laboratory had become stifling hot.  It was difficult to breathe and Hermione felt her curls sticking to the back of her neck.  Her head spun, but then she realised, it wasn’t just her head, it was her entire body.  
  


Draco’s fingers tangled in her dampened curls as they stood chest to chest.  Puffs of sweet breath shifted the pale blond strands littering his forehead and his grey eyes darkened when Hermione’s tongue quickly moistened her lips.  She spied his nervousness in the simple bob of his Adam’s apple and it eased her anxiety to know the tension wasn’t imagined.  
  


“Do you want me to kiss you?”  Draco’s hesitation would have been endearing if he hadn’t tugged her closer with a quiet sort of desperation.  
  


“Do you want to kiss me?”  Hermione struggled to avoid his question, yet in the end, she managed.  
  


The silence between them stretched and she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment.  She pushed against his chest, desperate to be free before the tears fell.  Draco, however, had other ideas.  His forefinger gently tapped beneath her chin until her red-rimmed eyes rose.  She blinked away the teardrops that clung to her eyelashes and then she did nothing but feel.  
  


Hermione’s whimper was lost in a sea of warm lips pressed against hers.  Draco’s hold loosened and the tenderness in the way he held her face in his hands, was nearly her undoing.  Their breaths melded together with compressed lips and achingly soft sighs.  The urgency increased, as it often does, and they bumped against the workstation housing the cauldrons as their limbs tangled together.  
  


Hermione’s arms rose to encircle his neck and he quickly grasped her arse.  He hissed against her open lips when the back of his hand grazed against a hot cauldron and made a rash decision.  While his tongue was tempting and teasing the unravelling brunette, Draco withdrew his wand.  
  


Hermione squealed in shock and surprise when their feet delicately landed on plush carpet.  Draco’s fingers were busily unbuttoning her blouse as he simultaneously moved them toward his four-poster bed.  It wasn’t enough to taste the sweetness of her lips.  He had seen bits and pieces of her delectable body and he wanted more.  
  


“Tell me to stop,”  he mumbled and set her on the edge of his bed.  
  


“No.  I don’t want you to stop.  I feel alive and I’d like to keep feeling that way.”  
  


Hermione shrugged out of her blouse and watched it float to the floor.  She wanted to tear off her skirt and recline nude upon his bed, but at the same time, she was afraid.  She’d never been a brazen woman and despite the Potion that forced her to speak truths, she couldn’t do more than sit patiently and wait.  
  


“Take off your skirt,”  Draco demanded.  
  


He licked his lips and shed his button down and trousers while she complied.  He found her pink knickers and boring beige brasserie endearing.  However, it was nothing in comparison to watching her recline upon his bed.  
  


He liked the way her legs dangled over the side and the way she pressed her knees together.  The rapid rise and fall of her heaving breasts was enough to make him moan.  He liked the way she didn’t flinch when he touched her knees and slowly spread her legs.  
  


Her arousal was obvious and the dampness of her knickers was evident.  His pale fingers slowly dragged her knickers down trembling lithe thighs and she remained silent.  Draco patiently waited for a gentle rebuff that didn’t come.  Instead, Hermione embedded her teeth in her bottom lip and opened the front clasp of her bra.  
  


“You’ve touched, might as well look.”  
  


“I like that you’re bare,”  Draco whispered while he deliberately inspected her from head to toe.  
  


“Theo hates it,”  she replied with a ghost of a smile and a hint of a blush.  
  


He bit his cheek to keep his lips from betraying him and spilling forth secrets.  She didn’t need to know how he felt, how much he craved her.  She didn’t need to know she invaded his every thought.  She definitely didn’t need to know how often he had imagined murdering her husband.  
  


Hermione released a shuddered sigh when she felt his weight against her.  She knew the Potion was wearing off, but it didn’t matter.  She didn’t care.  She ached for him.  She wanted to feel him skin to skin without Theo’s interference and drugged haze.  
  


“Are you sure?”  Draco asked as he laid languid kisses against her throat and his fingers dallied between her warm thighs.  
  


Hermione squirmed beneath him and dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades.  Her breaths were rasps that turned into muffled moans.  He plundered her mouth with his tongue, her breast in his hand while he gently squeezed.  Dusky peaks begged for attention and he was quick to comply and his teeth nipped their way down her willing body until he was settled between her thighs.  
  


Hermione stiffened, suddenly embarrassed and uncomfortable, but he held her still.  His large hands stretched upwards and encased her aching breasts as he dipped his head to her centre.  Draco knew it was a new experience for her.  Hell, everything was a new experience after suffering through Theo.  
  


He dragged his nose along her inner thigh and was mesmerized by the gooseflesh that broke across her skin.  He had dreamt of this moment.  He had stroked his cock beneath the pulsating cascade of hot water to exactly this fantasy and here she was, finally spread beneath him.  
  


Draco spread her femininity and listened to Hermione’s breath as it was sucked through her teeth.  He proceeded with the utmost care, as he didn’t want to frighten her.  His lips brushed across her sex lightly and the guttural moan that filled his ears encouraged him to continue.  
  


His tongue slid along her slick folds and he felt the magic course between them.  The wall sconces dimmed with every stroke as Hermione writhed beneath him.  Draco’s primal need to possess her enflamed and her wanton moans were music to his ears.  
  


Her thighs trembled and the tightening of her limbs made him press forward.  His thumb teased the hardened pearl that begged for attention.  Hermione’s fingers tangled in his hair and she yanked on the silky strands, begging him closer while her legs draped over his shoulders.  
  


She fluttered against his tongue, her head pounding with her release and then he was gone.  Her eyes flew open to protest, only to spy him hovered over her.  She glanced between them and her eyes widened to see his angry, weeping cock seconds before she was filled.  
  


Draco dragged her right hand over her head and entwined their fingers.  A gentle spark of magic shocked their palms, but neither paid it any mind.  They concentrated on each other.  Eyes locked while bodies moved in perfect symphony.  It wasn’t lust fueled fucking or meaningless shagging.  It was two souls becoming one with an air of magic heavy around them.  It was beyond intimacy and while Hermione would ordinarily shy away from the unfamiliar sensation, she couldn’t.  
  


Her legs encircled his waist and her fingernails scraped rivulets down his sweat soaked back.  Her lips moved with words she refused to bring to light, thankful the sounds were lost in the cacophony of harsh breaths and bodies in motion.  His lips parted and she read the quizzical set of his face, which caused her to smash their lips together.  
  


While the Potion had long since run its course, Hermione still wished to shout the hidden truths of her heart.  It would be disastrous, she knew that, and so she lost herself in the sensations of his body against hers.  His thrusts quickened and were soon erratic.  She chose that moment to sink her teeth into the salty skin of his shoulder, which muffled her moan while he spilt into her.  
  


Draco didn’t withdraw and roll away as was his custom.  Instead, he lowered his spent body onto hers and buried his head against her neck.  He breathed her in and discovered he enjoyed the way his cock felt when it was lodged in her.  
  


“How do you feel about adultery?”  Draco asked with a sigh before he nipped her earlobe.  
  


“What?”  
  


“I can’t give you up, Granger, not now.”  
  


Draco groaned with discontent when his spent cock slipped from her, yet he remained still.  He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, even her eyelids before he teased her lips.  Hermione’s fingers tightened around his, but he hated the tears that slipped from her closed eyes.  
  


“You don’t mean that, not really.  It’s just the Potion talking, Malfoy,”  Hermione’s voice was low, soft, and incredibly broken.  
  


“The Potion wore off before I kissed you,”  Draco confessed.  
  


Thundering footsteps ascending the steps interrupted his thoughts.  Draco knew Warrington wouldn’t dare barge into his bedchamber.  The door smashed open and he cringed against the intrusion.  He knew how it looked, how it was.  He was embarrassed, yet he also wished to spare Hermione the humiliation of discovery.  
  


“Hmm, interesting,”  Theodore Nott chuckled mirthlessly as he surveyed the scene before him.  “It seems you’ve collected your present early, Malfoy.  Pity I missed the show.  Did you make her come?  She looks completely dishevelled.  Did she scream your name?”  Theo arched a singular eyebrow in distaste more than displeasure as he crossed the threshold.  
  


“It was a potions accident, Nott,”  Draco’s ragged breathing was muffled by Hermione’s curls, but he didn’t dare raise his head.  
  


“It’s quite alright.  I had planned to offer her to you, for a price, of course.  Your birthday was simply an excuse for you to sample the wares.  Flint, Pucey, and even that simpering sop Finch-Fletchley tossed in a handful of paltry galleons,”  Theo scoffed.  
  


Hermione’s arms tightened around Draco and he knew she was crying.  He reached behind him and hastily yanked the sheet over them.  While he didn’t want to relinquish his position, he knew it was necessary and winced as he settled beside her.  He watched Hermione curl into a ball beneath the sheet until the only thing he could see, was her wild curls.  
  


“She’s not an object to be bought and sold, Nott,”  Draco growled.  
  


“Don’t be ridiculous, of course, she is.  She’s my property.  The question is whether you wish to be considered.  It’s entirely up to you,”  Theo tapped his chin and winked.  
  


“How long?”  Draco inquired, only due to the shaking hand that touched his knee.  
  


“I haven’t decided,”  Theo sat on the chest at the end of the bed and crossed his legs.  
  


“Alright, let’s bargain then.  How much for life?”  Draco challenged.  
  


He withheld his smirk when Theo’s dark blue eyes widened in surprise.  He quite enjoyed having the upper hand, but with Theo, it was impossible to gauge the man’s reactions.  Draco only hoped the man’s greed would overtake his sense.  
  


“Every galleon in the Malfoy coffers.  Come on now, Malfoy.  Do you think I’m stupid?  I have what you want and I’ll never release her.  However, I’m also a kind soul, therefore I’ll allow you to play with my property for a limited time.  You should be thanking me for my generosity.”  
  


“Must we play these games, Nott?  Go on then, tell me.”  
  


“One million galleons for ninety days,”  Theo clasped his hands over his crossed knees and smiled wide.  “There will be stipulations.  She’d be returned to me every third day for a voracious shag.  I can’t allow her to forget to whom she belongs.”  
  


“No, that’s unacceptable.  I’ll consent to the galleons, however, six months, and you shan’t touch her,”  Draco quickly countered.  
  


“Three months.  One point five million galleons.  One shag per month.  That’s the best offer you’ll get, Malfoy.  Otherwise, I’ll rent her out like the whore she is.”  
  


“Done,”  Draco hissed.  
  


Hermione howled, though she didn’t know if it was from righteous indignation or fury.  She threw the sheet off her naked body and hurled herself toward the nightstand.  She snatched Draco’s wand and swiftly pointed it at her disgusting excuse for a spouse.  
  


“The little Muggle thinks she can hurt me,”  Theo threw his head back and laughed heartily.  
  


Hermione exhaled viciously through her teeth and clamped Draco’s shoulder firmly.  He winced from the strength behind it but refused to intervene.  He felt the influx of magic work its way through his body and gravitate toward her hand.  Draco studied the concentration and the furrow of Hermione’s brow, mesmerized by her fire.  
  


Her lips parted with an angry sneer and with a flick of his wand, she uttered, “Stupefy.”

 


	10. Session 87

**Session 87  
** **July 2001  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

_How have you been?_  


I don’t know.  I honestly don’t know.  


_Patient seems distracted and agitated._  


I am.  I am agitated.  There’s something wrong.  I feel as though someone’s scrubbed my head.  I’m not expressing this properly. What I mean to say is, I feel as though everything is sort of fuzzy around the edges.  Honestly? It feels as though my memory has been modified, but that’s ridiculous.  


_Is it ridiculous?  Your husband’s temper is quite volatile and considering your inappropriate relationship with your employer, it wouldn’t surprise me if Theo had resorted to dastardly measures to keep you wedged beneath his thumb.  Has anything unusual happened lately?_  


My husband has been extraordinarily attentive.  It was nice at first, considering he didn’t punish me for my infidelity.  He’s been almost nice. He keeps asking me how I’m feeling.  


_Speaking of your infidelity, was it just the one time?  You were exceedingly evasive the past few sessions, Ms Granger._  


I want to lie to you, but I won’t.  No, it wasn’t. I blacked out after my husband’s discussion turned to how many galleons he would accept for me.  When I woke, he was gone and my employer was just sitting beside me. He looked awfully worried.  


_What happened afterwards?_  


I stayed with him.  Cass was there as well and I suppose I just pretended I had never married.  I’ve gone back home now and I-I miss him. Logically, I want to blame it on the magic.  I was sorely tempted to borrow his wand, but I didn’t want to wear out my welcome. I miss the way he’d look at me over tea and crumpets.  I miss the way he’d absently kiss my cheek, as if it were habit, as if it were something we’d get to do for always. I miss feeling him beside me as I slept and waking up tangled in limbs that always led to uhm, adult activities.  I miss feeling alive.  


_What purpose do you suppose it served to have you remain with your employer?  You’re a brilliant woman, you must have some thoughts on the matter._  


Control.  It’s the only answer I have.  He likes to, no, there is nothing he loves more than to ground me into dust.  He likes to feel powerful and what better way to tyrannize his wife than to offer her to the highest bidder?  He gave me a false sense of hope, I suppose you could say. I felt free for the first time in years. I didn’t care that I didn’t have magic because Ma-er my employer never made me feel inadequate.  


_How long were you with him?_  


A month.  It was only a month.  It should have been longer, it was supposed to be three months with an option to renew as if I was some sort of automobile, but something happened.  Perhaps the Daily Prophet published an unflattering article, I don’t know. I also knew better than to ask. My husband was happier than a Seeker with the Snitch and my employer…destroyed his laboratory.  


_And when you returned home?_  


My husband struck me.  I’m sure that’s unsurprising.  He laughed at me and struck me.  He shagged me as well, but I’d rather pretend that didn’t happen.  Don’t look at me like that, Gemma. He wanted me to make him promises, but I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t lie to him. No, that’s not right. I couldn’t lie to myself.  


_You’re stronger.  There’s a fire in your eyes that was never there before.  Far be it from me to recommend infidelity, but it seems as though your mysterious wizard has given you strength.  Perhaps, he will—_  


Nothing.  He will nothing, Gemma.  He doesn’t care about me like that.  He’s kind to me out of some sense of obligation.  It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t mean anything and I’d rather not allow my head to be filled with flights of fancy.  


_How can you honestly believe he does not care for you after all this time?  Do you think yourself a simple pawn in a power play between two men? Can you entertain the possibility that emotions have_ rung _high and your employer cares deeply for you?_  


I don’t want to think about it.  If I set aside my warped thinking processes and approached it logically, the conclusion I came to would probably set me in the Janus Thickey Ward.  I’d rather not entertain the possibility of him actually caring for me. It would cause me to focus on the fact that if it were me in that situation, I’d be unable to function.  It would tear out my heart to see the person I cared about, the person I loved, forced into a reprehensible situation. No, it’s better this way. He doesn’t care about me as anything more than an employee or even as a basic human being.  It has to be that way. It has to be these invisible lines drawn in the proverbial sand so that I can keep myself compartmentalized and safe.  


_Can you honestly tell me you don’t care for him?  I honestly believe it’s more than a passing fancy, Hermione._  


I’d like to be able to tell you I don’t care for him.  I’d like to tell you how ridiculous the notion is, but I do so hate to lie.  


_You are lying, Ms Granger.  You lie every time you tell me he doesn’t care for you.  You lie every time you tell me you don’t care for him as deeply as I know you do.  What are you gaining from all these lies you tell yourself?_  


My sanity.  My sanity is very important to me.  I might need it one day. I have these dreams that something will happen.  Maybe my husband splinches himself and he’s irrevocably damaged. The Contract is broken in death, you see.  I’d be free. Maybe, he’ll find love elsewhere and decide he can’t live another moment without this person by his side.  Maybe, there’s a way out that doesn’t involve carrying a child of a man that despises me. I haven’t given up on that. I will never give up.  


I was once hailed as the brightest witch of my age.  Perhaps it was true. Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps, I just worked ridiculously hard to carve myself a place in a world where others despised witches like me.  I don’t want to be her again. I don’t want to be that incessant little know-it-all. I want to be free of all the constraints, but I can’t do that if I’ve lost my sanity.  


_You’re protecting yourself.  What of your magic? Have you considered that it might be elusive due to the emotional constraints you’ve placed upon yourself to survive a deplorable situation?_  


Yes.  There are these moments, these tiny moments where I feel lighter.  I feel much like I did the first time I stepped into Hogwarts. I feel free.  The heavy weight that has beaten me down has been removed and for this small space of time, I have my magic.  It falls over me in a shroud, but if I attempt to cling to it, it’s gone. Therefore, I just stand there and let it flow over me.  


_What’s happening during these moments?  What do you feel?_  


Anger, it’s usually anger.  I’m not usually permitted to feel strongly about anything without repercussions.  He’s there. He’s standing so close to me, it’s hard to breathe. Sometimes he’s touching my hand or it’s just his chest grazing my back.  There’s a theory that my magic is bound to him. I don’t know if there’s a way to get it back. I miss it, but I miss my freedom more.  


_Entertain this scenario.  Your husband releases you.  Your magic never returns. What would you do with your life?_  


I’d buy a cottage in the country.  I wouldn’t want to be too close to people, so perhaps I’d have a large garden for that modicum of separation.  I had so many dreams of grandeur when I was a child, but they’re lost now. I’ll never be Minister for Magic now, and I don’t even care.  I was proud. I was arrogant. I was ambitious and where did it get me? No, I’d want a simple life. Maybe, I’d meet some kind Muggle and we’d have children.  


_How many children?_  


Four.  Two boys and two girls.  I never wanted children, did I ever tell you that?  There was so much I wanted to do with my life, children never entered the picture.  I wanted to be powerful. I wanted to preen and revel in my pride when someone called me a bitch.  Everything is different now. I’m a little broken now. I just want a quiet life. I want to be happy.  I know that happiness is that ever elusive sort of thing we’re always chasing, but I have to believe it’s possible.  I’ll learn how to cook and be the best at that. I’ll grow herbs and all right, I can’t make Potions, but there are all sorts of healing balms that can be created without magic.  Maybe, I’d open a little apothecary, just carve out my own little niche in the world.  


_If you managed to gain your freedom, would you consider building a life with your employer?_  


No, I couldn’t.  We come from different worlds.  He’s expected to procure a Pureblood wife and provide an acceptable Pureblood heir.  His future was always written in stone. I wouldn’t ask him to give that up. I wouldn’t expect him to give up anything, not for me.  I’m all sorts of broken. I’m tainted. I might have been something, someone once, but no longer. I’m not, I’m not worth it.  


_If you no longer believe in your worth, how can you expect anyone else to?_  


That’s the thing, Gemma.  I don’t. I don’t expect anyone to swoop in and save me.  I don’t expect anyone to love me as I don’t love myself. I don’t expect to live the life I’ve dreamed.  I don’t expect anything at all. I had hope once, but it too has faded into a hazy sort of memory.  


_Have you considered that your magic is tied to your emotional health?  I’ve read a few Muggle publications and they seem to believe that one’s physical health directly correlates to mental health and while there are still significant constraints on my magic, I’m attempting to delve into that thought process further._  


It’s been mentioned to me once or twice.  If that’s the case, I’m resigned to be a Muggle.  


_Hermione—_

  
There’s one bright spot in my day, in my life.  Just the one. It shines brighter than anything I’ve ever experienced.  It is the quintessential nucleus of my survival. One day, my husband is going to rip it from me.  One day the sun will be torn from the sky and I’ll be cast into darkness and I won’t survive that, Gemma.  I won’t want to survive that.  


* * *

 

Hermione’s knuckles rapped lightly on the whitewashed oak.  She’d never been forced to knock before and vaguely wondered why Cass hadn’t retrieved her.  It was quite a long walk and while the floundering sunshine warmed her cheeks, she shuddered.  


“I forgot, I can’t believe I forgot.  I’m sorry H,” Cassius Warrington nervously pushed his blue tipped blond strands out of his face and gestured for her to enter.  “I had to finish up the latest batch of Potions and Malfoy—“  


“It’s fine.  I’ve work to do.  I’ve fallen dreadfully behind.”  


Hermione shucked her overcoat and angrily shoved it onto the coat rack wedged into the corner.  Her pointed maroon flats flapped against the hardwoods as her houndstooth trousers swished against her thighs.  She smoothed the wrinkles in her maroon blouse and paused just outside the laboratory due to muted voices from within.  


“Draco, it’s been ages,”  A breathy voice crooned. “You work too hard, let me just—“  


Hermione twisted the handle and eased the door open slowly.  Draco Malfoy was leant against the workstation, but that wasn’t what concerned her.  It was Susan Bones wedged between his thighs that caused Hermione to swear her heart stopped.  


“H, wait,”  Cass hurried after her, but it was too late.  He cringed and slightly cursed his mate.  


The pretty red haired witch pressed into his chest and her pale, nimble fingers were pushing the buttons of his dress shirt through their holes.  She stretched onto her toes and pressed her lips to his smirk and that was when Hermione gasped. Susan smiled, yet it faltered upon spying the other woman’s distress.  


“Granger,”  Draco sounded pained, but Hermione simply shook her head.  


“Draco?”  Susan clung to his arm and he was forced to watch Hermione’s retreat.  


“Dammit, Susan, I said no.  I told you! I’m in the midst of an extraordinarily important order for St Mungo’s and I haven’t the time to entertain your appetites.  This isn’t working for me. I think it would be best if we didn’t see each other any longer,” Draco angrily shoved his arms into his blazer and shoved his wand into the interior pocket.  


“This is her fault, isn’t it?  You haven’t touched me since she started working for you.  You haven’t answered an owl in over a month and any other witch would have given up on you,”  Susan Bones wasn’t usually quite so vocal, but there was something about the situation that caused her ire to rise.  


“You should have.  I should have ended whatever this was ages ago.  It was never going to go anywhere. I’ve got to go.  Cass can show you out.”  


Draco stormed from his laboratory and cursed his elf for allowing the interfering witch entrance in the first place.  In his former life, he would have severely punished Brisby, but he couldn’t, not with her. He had plans for the kindly elf, and he knew she hadn’t meant any harm.  


“She’s gone, Malfoy.  I tried to stop it, but she punched me.  She can pack quite the right hook and—“  


“There’s no need to remind me, Warrington.  I have encountered her violences long before you decided she needed to be your best mate.  The least you could have done was fucking follow her,” Draco snarled as he thrust his arms into his black overcoat and flung open the heavy front door.  


“Did you follow her after she punched you?  Yeah, I didn’t think so. You fucking find her and I’ll see Susan goes home,”  Cass rubbed his red nose and vowed to numb the pain with innumerable tumblers filled with spirits.  


Draco snorted and stepped outside.  He couldn’t recall the last time he had actually utilised his front door.  It was easier to step into the Floo or Apparate than to offer faux smiles toward strangers.  It wasn’t an aversion to Muggles, it was convenience, and yet the thought didn’t quite ring true.  


He swore he saw brunette curls and hurried after them.  He wished he had actually listened to Warrington as the strange blue haired wizard rambled about his walks with Hermione.  He wondered if he would have recognised a certain café on the corner or even a bloody street sign.  


It wasn’t long before he was lost in a sea of bustling Muggles.  Draco was thankful they seemed to avoid him, but even so, he was ill at ease.  He slipped into an alley that faintly smelled of old cabbages and urine. He shuddered and vowed to burn his ensemble later.  He squinted in the dimness of the alley and focused on locating Hermione Granger.  


“Where the fuck would she go?”  Draco paced the filthy space and groaned.  “She definitely wouldn’t return home. Where else is there?  Fuck!”  


Draco yelped at the sudden crack of Apparition.  He drew his wand and pointed it into the shadows.  A flicker of blue was all Draco needed to sag against the worn brick.  He scowled at Cass, but he knew it was his own fault Hermione had left and he did so hate to accept blame.  


“She’s at her Mind Healer’s mate.  She’s probably angry and a bit confused.  She has a tendency to sort of retrace her steps,”  Cass tossed his head and gave his mate a shove. “Look, I’ll scour the bloody streets, just go on over to the Healers.  She’ll be there. Hermione Granger is nothing if not predictable.”  


Draco accepted the wrinkled bit of parchment and studied the address.  It wasn’t familiar, but that was to be expected. He knew Granger saw a Mind Healer frequently and had been quite curious about it.  At least he was content in his assumptions that the Healer was well versed in Magic and Muggles. He was curiously surprised Theo had allowed Granger such concessions considering all the darkness and secrets he had shrouded her in.  


While Draco Malfoy Apparated, Gemma Farley idly stared out the window.  Her fingertips traced meaningless shapes on the pane of glass as the Muggles passed.  Her head ached slightly, but that was her own doing. She simply wished to assemble the complicated puzzle of Hermione Granger.  


Gemma was counting down the days until her wand was returned to her.  She was desperate to return to her old life, to return to _him_ .  She knew he would be pleased to see her.  He’d always been forgiving as far as she was concerned.  


It was an error in judgement, that’s what she told herself.  It hadn’t meant anything. It was a quick tumble on a night of desperation and Oliver Wood had been a distraction.  Gemma hadn’t meant to get caught. It was his fault really, he should have been there to sate her desires.  


“It was my last night of freedom and he wasn’t anywhere to be found!  What did he expect me to do?”  


Gemma lamented to herself.  She propped her shapely legs on the corner of her desk and pulled her manicured fingers through her straight, dark hair.  She closed her eyes and wished her parents had never been Death Eaters. Frankly, she wished they’d never been caught, but the Wizengamot would expect remorse.  


“In love,”  Gemma scoffed.  “He didn’t even love _me_ and we were to be married.  I find it hard to believe the Malfoy heir has softened in a matter of a few years.”  


She poured a glass of brandy and wished it were firewhiskey.  Living amongst Muggles had given her an appreciation for some things, but she swore they were little more than vermin.  They hadn’t the slightest idea of the power she once had and would have again.  


Gemma Farley played her part perfectly, but inside she was seething.  She knew more than Hermione Granger wished to credit her, but it wasn’t enough.  Her pencil scratched across lined paper as she compiled the information she had gleaned.  


Gemma glanced out the window, deep in thought, and was shocked to see her patient.  Her legs dropped to the floor and her fingertips once more stroked the glass. She tugged on the damask draperies to hide from prying eyes and simply observed.  


“Granger!”  


Gemma’s heart leapt into her throat.  She knew that voice. She remembered that voice.  


“Go away, Malfoy!”  


Hermione hurried away from the Malfoy heir, but he was faster.  He grasped her by the shoulders, halting her movement, despite her struggle.  Draco wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly until she stilled.  


“It wasn’t what you think,”  Draco muttered.  


“It doesn’t matter what I think.  It’s obvious you were preoccupied and I removed myself from the situation.  Will you please release me?” Hermione stared at the ground rather than study the familiar hands around her.  


“Only if you promise to listen.”  


Gemma’s knuckles were white with the strength of her fists.  She studied his face and committed it to memory. There was so much she had forgotten and it all came rushing back.  She wanted nothing more than to rush from her office and wrench him away from the poor excuse for a witch, but she didn’t.  Instead, she watched her patient nod and jealousy pooled in her stomach.  


“Look, you don’t owe me an explanation.  I’m sorry for my outburst. It was juvenile.  I shouldn’t have burst in and interrupted and—“  


Gemma’s pale green eyes widened and a furious gasp escaped her painted lips as she watched the scene unfold.  She grunted in displeasure to see the way his eyes softened as he gazed down at the angry little Muggleborn. Gemma hated the way his fingertips pushed frizzing curls off Hermione’s cheek.  


Draco interrupted Hermione’s tirade and pressed his lips to hers.  He ignored the Muggles that passed them on the street. He simply focused on the slight woman in his arms.  He had missed the way she melted against him from the slightest touch. He missed the whimpers that lodged in her throat and the way she nibbled his bottom lip.  


“I didn’t want Susan there.  I didn’t request her presence.  I haven’t spoken to her since before Dividere, Granger.  I wanted—“ Draco stopped abruptly and inhaled against the top of her head.  


“I hate this.  I hate all of this.  I hate the way I felt when I saw her when I haven’t a right,”  Hermione sighed against his chest and refused to cry.  


“You have every right,”  Draco snarled and even Gemma baulked from behind the windowpane.  “I bloody chased after you. I’ve never chased after a woman in my entire life.  I never wanted to before you. You’re supposed to be there. If Theo hadn’t rescinded our deal, you’d still be there.  You’d be with me and I hate that you’re not.”  


It wasn’t exactly a confession of his affections, but it was the best he could do.  Draco knew it wouldn’t be fair of him to confess when they were equally trapped. He didn’t want to make a difficult situation impossible, but fuck he missed her.  


“He’s decided to give you weekends.  He’s planning on sending an owl later in the week.  I probably shouldn’t be telling you that, Malfoy, but I miss you,”  Hermione hid her face against his dark blue button down, filled with embarrassment.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”  


Gemma patiently waited for the famous Malfoy smirk, but it didn’t come.  She waited to see him bristle from Hermione’s intimate confession, but instead, he smiled.  He fucking smiled and kissed her. He lazily kissed her, clung to her even, and in that moment, Gemma Farley hated Hermione Granger.  


* * *

 

Ernie Macmillan hurled a silver tea service into the wall.  His dark blond hair fell into his face as the sweat cascaded down his sallow cheeks.  His grunts, groans, and harsh exhales filled the silence as destruction surrounded him.  


“Feel better, love?”  Theo quipped as he avoided the slivers of crystal that littered his Oriental rug and mourned the loss of his favourite decanter.  


“Fuck you.  Fuck you! Why, why did you do this?  Why did you snatch her back?” Ernie hurled another tumbler at the fireplace and winced when bits ricocheted off the stone into his cheek.  


“She was happy you wanker!  What the fuck is the point of any of this if they’re happy?!”  Theo snarled and strode across his library angrily.  


“Why are you even doing this?  LET HER GO! You don’t need her!  You don’t want her! You don’t love her!  You don’t even want a fucking heir, Theo!”  Ernie’s face reddened while he screamed at his lover.  


“I want him to fucking burn.  I want him to rue the day he was fucking born.  I want him to covet that which is mine and hate himself until his very last fucking breath,”  Theo’s blue eyes darkened dangerously as he hissed and Ernie was slightly afraid of the man.  


“This is all about Malfoy?  Why? He’s a spoilt Pureblood, but so are you.  You swore to me it would be you and me at the end of the day.  I’ve waited fucking years. Years!” Ernie stamped his foot like a petulant child and continued his tirade.  “I fucked that Weasley for you! I don’t even like women! When is it enough?”  


Theo cringed under the weight of Ernie’s emotional display.  He wasn’t proficient in expressing his feelings. His father had berated him as a child for his weaknesses and as an adult, he was determined to prove his power and strength.  He cared about Ernie, of course he did, but to express the depth of his feelings was more than could be expected of him. Therefore, Theo did what he did best. He deflected.  


“What the fuck does it matter, Ernie?”  Theo flounced into his black leather armchair and adjusted his grey pinstriped ascot absently.  “You’ve got me. You’ve always had me. What does it matter how I choose to fill my days? I don’t love her.  I never pretended to love her. It was never about her and you bloody well know it. It was always, always about Malfoy.”  


“Six years, Theo.  Six years I’ve waited for you, and it will never come to fruition, will it?  I will always be your dirty little secret. I will always watch from the sidelines as you prance about with your useless War Heroine Muggle.  You don’t love me. You don’t love anyone other than yourself and I—I’m done, Theo. I’m so fucking done,” Ernie sobbed with his knees embedded in broken glass.  


“There’s no need to be so dramatic.  I’ll have Sullivan run you a bath. You’ll feel much better afterwards and I’ll tuck you into bed,”  Theo sighed.  


“You can’t fix this with fucking firewhiskey and bubble baths, Theo,”  Ernie snorted as he struggled to his feet.  


He yanked on the hem of his trousers and inspected the lines of blood dripping down his calves.  He plucked the shards of glass from his skin, wincing as the air caused the cuts to sting. Ernie wished he was stronger and one day, he hoped to be able to leave Theodore Nott in the dust.  


“I could kill her.  Is that what you want?  Will that make you happy?”  Theo’s voice rose to alarming heights as he watched Ernie collect himself.  


“You can’t fucking kill Hermione Granger and get away with it, even if she is a useless Muggle.  The Minister for Magic and Harry Potter would eviscerate you and don’t even think of attempting to hide behind your Contract.  The Wizengamot is known for their devious ways and you’d wind up in Azkaban,” Ernie snorted as he healed his various cuts and scrapes.  


“I’ll divorce her.  I could divorce her,”  Theo’s voice cracked in fear while Ernie thrust his arms into his cloak.  


“You need an heir first, Theo,”  Ernie sighed. “I can’t be here right now.  I can’t bear to look at you. I love you, but I don’t like you very much.”  


Theo bitterly wiped the salty tears from his cheeks and chased Ernie to the Floo.  He always knew losing Ernie was a possibility, but he didn’t think it would be this soon.  He thought he had more time. He needed more time.  


“I need a year.  Give me a year. Please, Ernie, don’t leave like this, not like this.  I can’t do this without you!”  


Theo grappled with Ernie and refused to relinquish his hold on his lover’s forearms.  His bony fingers latched onto Ernie’s lapel and silently begged. Theo shuddered in apprehension laced with relief when he felt Ernie’s arms holding him tightly.  He sniffled into the crook of Ernie’s neck and his knees trembled.  


“I’ve given you six of them, Theo.  What are you willing to give me?” Ernie patted Theo’s shaking back and knew he would stay.  


“Anything, name it.”  


Ernie Macmillan smirked and gently led Theo back to the settee.  He was pleased to note Sullivan had vanished the mess and pulled Theo into his arms as he sat.  He toyed with the dark strands he had come to love and wondered how far he could push his distraught lover.  


“Your name.  I want your name.  Can you give me that, Theo?”  


Theo stiffened in Ernie’s arms and swore he could feel his grandfather glowering at him from the portrait on the wall.  He might have Silenced the man, but it would never stop his ancestor's condemnation. Theo wanted approval, he ached for it, and he knew it was never within his grasp as long as he held onto Ernie.  


“I can’t, you know I can’t.  I only married the Mudblood to anger Malfoy and to establish a respectable reputation in the Wizarding World.  I planned to dispose of her and procure a wife even my father would approve. I-you know I care about you Ernie, love you even, but I can’t give you my name,”  Theo swallowed and winced against the pain in his chest.  


Ernie shook his head sadly and kissed Theo’s forehead.  It pained him to remove the wilted wizard from his arms, but he pushed through it.  He stood, his face devoid of emotion, despite the rending of his heart. He slowly walked toward the Floo and grasped the powder with trembling fingers.  Ernie glanced over his shoulder one last time and nearly regretted it once he saw the unadulterated agony etched into Theo’s face.  


“I suppose there’s nothing left to say.”

 


	11. Session 90

**Session 90  
** **August 2001  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

I’m not in the mood to play your games today, Gemma.  I’ve had a difficult few weeks and I simply can’t. If you only wish to barrage me with questions you know I won’t answer, I’ll save us both the trouble and leave now.

 

_ Ms Granger, I can’t pretend to understand your issues. _

 

Oh, I’m aware.  It’s lovely to be able to speak about my issues to a certain extent, but I’d be lying if I said you’d actually been beneficial to my mental health.  I don’t come here for validation anymore. I come here for empowerment. I come here for me.

 

_ Should I sit here complacently while you chatter endlessly then?  Would that appease you? _

 

Gods, Gemma, you truly are a bitch, aren’t you?  It oozes out of you with traces of Pureblood derision.  You’re extremely condescending and I’m tired of playing these passive aggressive games with you.  This isn’t working for me any longer. I think it would be best if we parted ways. 

 

_ Wait, Hermione, don’t go, not yet. _

 

Why shouldn’t I?  Oh, I see. Your probation is contingent on your client base, isn’t it?  You need me, don’t you?

 

_ I wouldn’t have said it quite so crassly, but you’re not wrong. _

 

Let me be perfectly clear, Gemma.  You need me. I do not need you. I survived before you and I’ll continue to survive after you.  If you have a personal issue with me, that’s your issue. It is not mine and I am not going to sit here and be subjected to your thinly veiled derision.  I’ve enough of that at home and I’ll be damned if I stand for it here. Do you understand?

 

_ H-how have things been at home? _

 

My husband has been destructive and brooding.  He’s been drinking so much he hasn’t managed to find his way to his bedchamber in ages.  I have the sneaking suspicion his boyfriend left him, but I know better than to breach the subject.  I do value my life.

 

_ Has your husband continued to hire you out? _

 

That was uncalled for.  I explained the situation to you.  There’s no need to be such a bitch.  What is your issue?

 

_ Stop.  Stop! Don’t walk out the door.  I’m sorry. I’m sorry! _

 

How many times must I be forced to absorb your barbs?  How many times? Can you answer that? Just because I haven’t got magic, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of sending an owl to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  I know they’ve been assigned the Probationary Magic cases.

 

_ I saw you.  You were angry and Draco fucking Malfoy chased after you.  It made me angry and I’ve been less than cordial and completely unprofessional. _

 

You have and I shan’t accept another instance.  This is it, Gemma.

 

_ You’re stronger now.  Have you realised that?  You were a simpering, broken waif when you first began your sessions with me.  You’re different now. Have you recognised the changes in yourself? Do you attribute them to your –cough— employer? _

 

I’d thank you for not saying his name, but your Slytherin nature just can’t help but force its way into every situation, can it?  I don’t understand why you would care that Draco Malfoy is a fixture in my life. You’ve never judged my interactions prior to him, yet it seems he’s a catalyst for your anger.  Perhaps you should consider seeking Counselling, Gemma.

 

_ I rather think I preferred it when you were sobbing into your tea. _

 

And we’re finished here.

 

* * *

 

 

Theodore Nott peeled open his bleary eyes and groaned.  His head wobbled in minute circles and he inhaled slowly.  Through the slits in his swollen eyes, he snarled at the flecks of fiercely bright sunlight.  He blamed them for the incessant hammering against his skull.

 

He gagged when the putrid stench of his own vomit sharply pricked his nostrils.  Theo moaned and covered his face with his hands. He barely recalled yet another night of debauchery, yet he sensed a warm body beside him.

 

“Fantastic,”  Theo quietly snarled.  “Sullivan.”

 

His obedient house elf entered the bedchamber through customary ways rather than Apparition.  Sullivan knew better than anyone how his master despised loud noises after nights spent drowning his sorrows in firewhiskey.  He dutifully approached the four-poster bed and sniffed at his master’s companion with disdain.

 

“Master’s guest requested full breakfast in the garden,”  Sullivan whispered.

 

“Bollocks.  I can’t remember fuckall,”  Theo carefully swung his feet to the floor and flinched away from the cold tile.

 

“Fervor does this,”  a guttural sort of voice rumbled.

 

“Fervor?  I don’t partake in that.  I know better than—“ Theo choked on the words as bits and pieces of the night before flashed before his eyes.  “Y-you dosed me.”

 

Theo gulped audibly and suddenly felt the need to draw the sheet to his chin.  The almost black inset eyes that roved over his naked form made Theo feel uncomfortable.  The muscular man beside Theo rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. His expansive chest rumbled with deep laughter and it was an easy matter to pluck the sheet from his bed partner.

 

“Hmpf, you shy now?”  The deep timbered voice teased.  “Not shy last night. Beg for cock last night.  Mewl like woman last night. I make you remember.”

 

“That’s not necessary!”  Theo screeched. 

 

His reedy hands covered his man bits and he moved quickly in order to leap from the bed, but calloused hands roughly forced him onto his back.  Theo’s breaths expelled in harsh pants as the hulking Bulgarian towered over him and forced his way between trembling thighs.

 

“Usually I not like to take charge, but for you, I make exception.  This time.”

 

Theo flinched away from the long dark hair that brushed across his face and disliked the feelings of vulnerability that thumped away in his chest.  His eyes were widened with fear, but that only caused the man to smile as he lowered his head. Despite his best efforts, Theo was at the mercy of his uninvited guest and he grappled with his fuzzy memories to no avail.

 

Theo didn’t mind being dominated, he never had.  He had to admit the sensation of a sinewy chest against his was delicious.  It reminded him of Ernie, yet it was different. Where Ernie was all soft curves and muted muscles, this beast of a man was sharp edges and solid.

 

His hands pushed against the flexing muscles and once more, Theo’s ears were filled with a hearty rumble of deep laughter.  Dexterous fingers plucked at his hardened nipples and while part of Theo wanted to protest, his body responded in such a way he couldn’t, nor did he want to.

 

“Sullivan made breakfast,”  Theo weakly protested.

 

“It vill keep.  Tell me now. Does your vife know you beg for cock?  She know you moan like whore?”

 

Theo shivered and shook his head.  He concentrated on the dark as pitch eyes and ignored the hardening of his cock.  Slow, gentle strokes by a sure, firm hand were sure to drive him mad. The gentle caress and slight squeeze of his bollocks caused Theo’s eyes to flutter shut and succumb.

 

“Yesss,”  Theo hissed and his skin prickled with pleasure.

 

“Good.  Get on floor.”

 

Theo felt cold when his body was left uncovered by the heat of his bedmate.  He scrambled from the warmth of the four-poster bed and stood, unsurely. He greedily gazed at the beautiful man that stood proudly before him.  The man was rough around the edges and peppered in scars, but even in his nudity, he commanded respect.

 

“Bend the knee.  You vill suck my cock.”

 

Theo baulked at the command.  He instantly thought of Ernie with his gentle nudges and knowing smiles.  Before he could blink, Theo’s hair was grasped in a firm fist and he was shoved to his knees with a bang against the unforgiving floor.  He stared at the thick jutting cock and opened his mouth.

 

He gagged slightly but managed to adjust his jaw to the size.  The salty sweat filled his nostrils and Theo recoiled, only to discover he couldn’t move.  There was something deliciously arousing to be dominated in such a fashion and Theo didn’t waste a minute when it came to giving pleasure.

 

“Yes.  Like that.  Take it all.”

 

Theo struggled and winced as his head was held in place.  He realised he was simply a vessel as the tanned wizard flexed his hips and forced his impressive cock down Theo’s throat.  His hands rose in order to squeeze tightened arse cheeks, but they were slapped away. It was then Theo knew there would be no pleasure for him in this instance.  The grunts of pleasure increased and the back of Theo’s throat was battered and sore. He winced with every harsh thrust and then he was choking on the man’s release.

 

“Good.  You did good.  We do again. Come, we eat.”

 

Theo angrily swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and reached for his wand.  His fingers barely grazed the hilt and he was lifted from the floor by his throat and slammed against the wall.  His feet dangled, his toes desperately sought purchase, and then he heard the growl.

 

“You like my Fervor, yes?  You want, yes? Ministry take.  Is bad for you.”

 

“Y-you assaulted me,”  Theo gurgled.

 

“Hmm yes and no.  I give Potion after food.  You remember then. You remember fisting hair.  You remember fucking. I like. You like. You want Fervor, you fuck me.  Is rules now.”

 

Theo coughed and sputtered the moment he was released.  He knew his neck was red and would probably bruise. He cursed his drunken self and wondered what the fuck he had gotten himself into.  Angrily, Theo dressed, while his new partner did the same. They ventured from the bedchamber together as Theo struggled to recall what day it was.

 

“Hermoninny!”

 

Hermione’s eyes nearly popped from her head and her lips parted in an unflattering gape.  She shook her head, closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and yet nothing removed the vision from her eyes.  She smiled weakly and looked at Theo who only sneered in her direction.

 

“V-Viktor, it’s been ages.  W-what are you doing here?” Hermione’s faux smile faltered and she smoothed her sweaty palms down the front of her summer frock with nervousness.

 

“I come fuck Theo.  Come, we eat. Sit on lap.  I touch tits,” Viktor Krum pushed his long dark hair off his face and tied it in a hasty knot at the base of his neck.

 

He marched into the Conservatory and sat with aplomb.  He patted his hard thigh and slammed his elbow on the table.  His entire demeanour brooked no disobedience and therefore, Hermione carefully approached Viktor with her heart in her throat.

 

He forced her to straddle his left thigh and pushed her summer frock to the tops of her thighs.  Hermione stared into the garden and refused to cry. Theo felt a bit better about his interactions with the bumbling Bulgarian the moment he spied the man’s hands squeeze Hermione’s breasts.

 

“Hmm yes, always nice tits.  Pour me tea,” Viktor demanded.  “You eat much, get fat.”

 

Viktor laughed heartily and caressed the tops of Hermione’s thighs and her stomach.  He worked his way up the front of her frock and tore down the cups of her brassiere. He sighed in appreciation and manipulated her nipples while he nibbled his toast.

 

“T-Theo, it’s Friday,”  Hermione whispered.

 

“Fuck,”  Theo slammed his teacup into its saucer and glowered at Viktor.  “You can’t have her. She’s been promised. It’s a binding contract and I won’t have you fucking up my galleons.  Let her go.”

 

Viktor frowned heavily, which only accentuated the scar that sliced through his eyebrow.  He acquiesced and Hermione sighed in obvious relief. She immediately adjusted her clothing and just as she was prepared to vacate Viktor’s lap, there was a loud bang.

 

“Get the fuck away from her,”  Draco Malfoy growled and flicked his wand.

 

The Conservatory doors slammed into the wall with a harsh crack.  Viktor Krum was upended from his seat and slammed to the tile with a deafening crash.  Hermione was immediately caught in a vice grip and thrust behind the furious Slytherin.

 

“Malfoy, I’m alright.  It’s fine,” Hermione tugged on Draco’s sleeve, but the silvery eyes never strayed from Viktor.  

 

“Is ok.  I touch tits.  I come fuck Theo and touch tits.  Come, eat,” Viktor laughed and brushed off the bits of broken tile from his black trousers with a smile.

 

Draco didn’t waste another moment on the offensive Bulgarian.  He withdrew a pouch of coins and hurled them in Theo’s direction.  Without another word, he pushed Hermione toward the foyer.

 

His fingers shook as he paced the small space and he knew he couldn’t Apparate until he regained control.  He wanted to march back into the Conservatory and beat Viktor Krum with his bare hands, but he wouldn’t. He refused to give Theo more power than he already had.  Draco knew it would only end badly for Hermione and he realised then, that he couldn’t bear it if she were further abused.

 

He cared for her.  He cared for her quite deeply, actually, but admitting it was painful for him.  He couldn’t keep her. He was working on borrowed time and every moment he was forced to send her back into the bowels of hell tore at his heavy heart.

 

He’d spent more and more time beside Harry Potter and his father, while they diligently scoured every available tome.  The Old Magicks were irrefutable and still, Draco refused to give up. His dour demeanour continued to sour until it degenerated to a constant simmering rage.

 

“He didn’t harm you did he?”  Draco questioned as he paced. “Tell me he didn’t hurt you, Granger.”

 

“I’m fine.  He didn’t hurt me.  He touched a bit, but Theo told him to stop.”

 

Hermione hesitantly stepped in his path and held her hands up.  Draco walked directly into her raised palms and simply stared down at her.  His cheeks were flushed and his hand twitched in agitation, which caused his wand to slap against his thigh.

 

Hermione smoothed her hands over his crisp evergreen button up shirt.  The slow continuous motion soothed his soul. It caused the tension to ebb from his limbs and it was a simple matter to hold her close.  He pushed her head against his heart and stroked her surprisingly smooth curls until he felt much better.

 

“Show me your room,”  Draco whispered as he rubbed his cheek across the top of her head.

 

“My room?  I’ve never, I mean we’ve never, I don’t—“

 

“Nott’s got the fucking Floo locked down.  I can’t Apparate currently, due to the scene I walked in on and so yes, Granger, I want you to show me your room,”  Draco whispered against the shell of her ear.

 

Hermione gulped noisily and led him down the long corridor.  She avoided the Conservatory, though, from the sound of the grunts that stemmed from the room, she doubted the occupants would have noticed them at all.  She ascended the staircase with Draco close behind her and when she finally reached her bedchamber, she paused.

 

“No one’s ever been inside, besides Sullivan,”  Hermione breathed. “Of the male persuasion, that’s what I meant.  Theo’s never even stood in the doorjamb.”

 

Draco’s hand covered hers as it sat unmoving on the door handle and slowly, he twisted it.  He kept a firm hold on her hand and watched the door swing inward. It was darker than he thought it should be.  He had imagined her in soothing neutral tones ensconced in filtered sunlight, rather than encased in such darkness.

 

Gently, he closed the door and nudged her toward the unassuming bed.  He hated the imposing black furniture as it reminded him of his childhood.  Draco resisted the urge to tear the black draperies from the canopy and instead he focused on Hermione.

 

“Here?  You want to do this here?”

 

Draco cupped Hermione’s face in his hands and she flinched away from the tremble.  Despite his cool demeanour, his hands shook against her skin and Hermione knew he was in no shape to Apparate.  She didn’t quite understand why he was so distraught.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?  I need to, I need to make sure you’re alright.  I know it sounds insane and maybe it is, but fuck, Granger,”  Draco groaned and toyed with the pearl buttons on her frock.

 

Hermione inclined her head with careful precision.  She pushed away his insistent hands and slowly pushed the pearl buttons through the buttonholes.  She liked the way his eyes remained focused on her rather than her exposed flesh.

 

Her self-consciousness, on the other hand, never waned.  She was not the sort of woman to be comfortable on display and living with Theo had made everything much harder than it should have been.  He’d berated her so often, she’d come to believe his scathing, hateful words. How could she not?

 

“I can’t do it,”  Hermione whispered.

 

“Get on the bed,”  Draco commanded. “Hide beneath your safety blankets if it makes you feel better.”

 

Hermione tossed her frock onto the nearby elegant armchair and scurried beneath the coverlet.  She sighed in relief the moment she was hidden from view. She felt safer that way and it was difficult for her to remember a time when things were different.

 

She didn’t watch him disrobe.  Hermione knew she had waded into treacherous waters.  It was dangerous to acknowledge her feelings as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned.  Everything had been easier when she had no one. She hadn’t hope either and to have it now, well, it hurt.  There was the chance, always the chance, it could be ripped from her tenuous grasp, and that terrified her more than the beatings she received.

 

Draco reached for her immediately and nearly smiled when her stiff body softened under his hands.  Stolen moments were no longer enough. How on earth could he tell his father, his Pureblood pompous father, his heart rent in two every time he was forced to leave a Muggleborn witch behind?  It was the end of a long held Pureblood era and he didn’t even care. He only wanted Hermione.

 

He missed the way her eyes dimmed when he drew her arms over her head.  He didn’t notice her laboured breaths and if he did, Draco assumed they were from his meticulous ministrations.  When she turned her head from him, he honestly believed Hermione was offering her neck and instantly laid a series of kisses along her pulse point.

 

He grasped her hip and eased into her, pleased with her arousal.  Draco knew he wouldn’t last long and mentally he swore he’d make it up to her.  Later, within the safety of his own home, not here with Theo and bloody Viktor Krum downstairs grunting like pigs.  He pressed his forehead against her shoulder and thrust quickly, aching for the release that would ease his anxiety.

 

Nearly frantic, Draco kissed her and she allowed the intrusion, but she was lifeless.  She moved by rote rather than by want or need. She flexed her fingers and shuddered when her arms began to tingle.  She closed her eyes and prayed he finished soon, just to keep the memories at bay. She had promised to never speak of it.  She had promised.

 

“Granger, are you—are you crying?”  Draco inquired moments after he spilt into her.

 

“No, no I’m fine.  Please, let me go.”

 

Draco raked his fingers through his blond hair nervously.  He didn’t like the way she rubbed at her wrists. His hold hadn't harmed her.  He knew she could have removed her wrists if she wished. He’d never do anything to physically hurt her.  She had to know that, didn’t she?

 

His grey eyes narrowed the moment she pressed three fingers against her chest, between her breasts.  It then he realised, this particular moment had nothing to do with him. Hermione was reliving a painful memory.  Gods how he wanted to drag it from her lips, but he didn’t press. She was a secretive woman, not that he blamed her.

 

“What the fuck did he do to you, Granger?”

 

Hermione arched her brows and pursed her lips in that silent determination that had always been hers and huffed.  She slid from the bed and marched directly toward the en suite in order to bathe. She didn’t owe him any explanations.

 

“My Mind Healer knows you Malfoy.  Did I tell you that?” Hermione called while she adjusted the taps.

 

“I don’t care.  What did he do to you?  Was it Theo?” Draco barged into the modest washroom, instantly irritated with Hermione’s distraction methods.

 

“She says I should be more forthcoming when it comes to my issues, but I don’t trust her any longer,”  Hermione prattled on as though he hadn’t said a word.

 

He imagined his hands around her throat for a nanosecond and drew a slow steady breath instead.  He was not going to do to her what he was nearly positive had already been done, but fuck he was insanely curious.  There had been a man or a wizard or someone that had hurt her so deeply, she honestly believed everything after that was inconsequential.

 

“Granger.”

 

“She’s a pretty woman, Malfoy.  You’d probably like her. Knowing you, you’ve probably already liked her.  There’s a story there.”

 

Hermione adjusted the taps and stepped into the hot spray.  She knew she was driving him mad, but she didn’t want to talk about it.  She had promised and in a world where she was worth nothing, she still clung to her word. It was all she had left.  At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

 

She felt as though she was a shell of the woman she had once been and perhaps she was.  She wasn’t the brightest witch of the age, as she wasn’t a witch. She was a Muggle and while there was nothing wrong with being a Muggle, it hurt.  There was an ache deep within her soul, for she knew the world of Magic. It was right there within her grasp at one time and it had been stolen from her by one of the many evils in the world.  She feared she’d never recover and looking at Draco Malfoy, well, that gave her hope and hope never seemed to end well for her.

 

“Tell me,”  Draco pleaded as he stepped under the spray with her.

 

“When I was a little girl, I dreamt the things most little girls do.  It seems so silly now.”

 

Draco stiffened as she continued to ignore him, but instead of starting a row, he listened.  Perhaps the answer was in the story she’d weave. Anything was possible, wasn’t it?

 

“We all had dreams as children.”

 

“Yes,”  Hermione sighed and lathered her hair, “I suppose we did.  My dreams weren’t filled with libraries overflowing with books and I’m sure that comes as a surprise to you.  No, I wanted what everyone else wanted. I wanted to wear a white dress and stand in front of my family and friends.  I wanted to walk down the aisle toward my tomorrow. I wanted to spin and laugh on a dance floor held in the arms of a man that truly loved me.  It’s too late for that now.”

 

“It’s not—“

 

“I never thought of the wedding night when I was small,”  she interrupted. “I thought of it later, as a teenager. My mum fully believed a woman should come to her husband virginal and I wanted to please her.  I thought I’d marry Ron, isn’t that silly?” Hermione laughed without mirth and allowed Draco to hold her beneath the pelting hot water.

 

“I thought I’d wind up with Parkinson so we were both deluded,”  said Draco.

 

“I kept my word to the best of my ability, but sometimes, the choices get stolen from you.  Sometimes everything you dreamt gets whisked away into a great nothingness and it really makes you feel as though you’re lost.”

 

Draco rinsed her sodden curls and cautiously stilled his angry tongue.  He knew exactly what she was saying and the blinding rage was barely controlled.  He tugged her into his chest and kissed her cheek. It wasn’t much, but it comforted her on some level.

 

“I tried.  I really tried.  I was also ridiculously stupid.  I mean, I held my mother’s words on this pedestal.  I let it define me and I shouldn’t have, but I did. When all was said and done, I stood in that bloody forest and screamed myself nearly hoarse.  When Ron returned, I lost my temper and actually blamed him for leaving in the first place. How stupid am I?”

 

“You’re not.  You’re brilliant.”

 

Draco’s fingers shook and he held her shoulders a little harder than he should have in order to calm his ire.  He knew exactly whom he needed to confront. He soothed his fury with images of raised fists and blood spatter while holding Hermione close.  He shouldn’t care this much. It was dangerous, he knew that, but it no longer mattered. 

 

“I should have been smarter, that’s what my mum would have said.  I shouldn’t have gone off with two blokes and not expect something terrible to happen.  I shouldn’t have allowed my mother’s expectations of me to determine my self worth. I’m all broken, Malfoy and I fear I’ll never recover.”

 

Hermione allowed his talented fingers to ease the tension from her shoulders and watched the water swirl down the drain.  She felt lighter having got her darkest secret off her chest. It didn’t change anything, but even so, she felt better.

 

“You’ll be back, Granger.  We’ll figure this out and you’ll heal.  You are more than your Magic. You are more than your mother’s ridiculous notions.  You are a brilliant woman and you have a strength I’ve only imagined. You’ll get it back.  This isn’t all you’re meant to be.”

 

Draco deftly lifted her from the shower and turned off the taps.  He hated the way she just stood there and stared at the floor in defeat.  He hated the way she mechanically moved while he towelled her dry and wished there was some way he could ignite the fire in her.

 

“Tell me about your Mind Healer,”  he suggested.

 

Draco watched her carefully in the vanity mirror.  He observed the way her shoulders sagged and her long lashes blinked sadly.  She met his gaze in the foggy mirror and smiled so sadly his heart nearly broke.

 

“Tell me about the woman that broke your heart,”  Hermione countered.

 

“What’s to tell?  It was years ago. She cheated on me.  She left me and that was that. Life goes on, Granger,”  Draco hovered over her shoulder and kissed the side of her throat.

 

“What was her name?”

 

It was an innocent question he supposed, but there was something in her eyes that made him wary.  She nodded, as though she understood his reticence and stepped out of his embrace. She tucked the fluffy white towel around her and moved toward the door.

 

“Gemma.  It was Gemma Farley, alright?”  Draco nearly shouted in an effort to make her stay.

 

He flinched at the seemingly limitless pain in her golden brown eyes.  He didn’t understand what the issue was at all. She looked as though he had removed her heart and stomped on it.  He wanted to reach for Hermione, but she held up her hand while a singular tear made its way down her cheek.

 

“She’s my Mind Healer.  I’m sure you can see yourself out.”

 


	12. Session 97

**Session 97  
** **September 2001  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

I shouldn’t be here.  I don’t know why I even bother coming here anymore.  It’s so ridiculously pointless.

 

_ Why do you come then?  Tell me, why are you here? _

 

That’s a really good question.  I think it’s become habit. My husband is used to my appointments and doesn’t even bat an eye when I tell him I’m leaving.  I like that. I suppose I believed these sessions could help me.

 

_ They aren’t magic, Ms Granger. _

 

I know.  You don’t have to tell me that, Gemma.  I miss who I used to be and I wanted some direction in regaining myself.

 

_ I’m a Counsellor, a Mind Healer.  I’m not a miracle worker. _

 

There’s no need to laugh at me.  It’s only right I should inform you I’ve requested a new Mind Healer.  We’ve crossed some sort of invisible line and I don’t believe either of us can get past it.  I don’t trust you. You’re rather prickly and I don’t come here to be berated and reminded of what I don’t have.

 

_ Seems to me you’ve got plenty.  You’ve got a husband. You’ve got a best mate.  You’ve got a lover. What else could you possibly need? _

 

Freedom.  I need my freedom.  I need to be able to close my eyes and sleep without fear.  I need to be able to leave my house without permission. I need to work a job I love and have my own income.  I need to venture out and about without constantly looking over my shoulder. I need lots of things, but you can’t see past your own bias.

 

_ Have you ever wondered if you could make your husband happy?  I realise you believe he is homosexual, but have you considered that it’s due to you? _

 

I knew you were a bitch, but the cruelty is new.  I’ll be sure to document such barbs in my report. The Ministry requested a detailed list of your offences.  It’s been so long since they bothered with me, I’d gladly do their bidding just to feel part of something again.  I suppose if I’m instrumental in your probation revocation that will have to do. Oh, do you think they’ll sack you?

 

_ You’re jealous.  You’re also afraid.  You know he’ll leave you if you tell him about me.  It will solidify your place as nothing more than the dirt beneath my shoe. _

 

I told him about you.  He didn’t care. I told him you were my Mind Healer and I asked him to leave, and he refused.  He told me he didn’t care about some—what was it? Oh yes, I remember. He said he didn’t care about some spoilt little cheating bitch and if he wanted her, he would have searched the ends of the earth for her.

 

_ You’re lying. _

 

I didn’t believe him either.  He changed my mind.

 

_ W-what did he do? _

 

It’s really sort of pathetic the way you can’t let him go.  I was a formidable witch and now I’m a battered wife, but I’ve never held onto a person so fiercely.  What did he do you ask? Well, first he brought me back to his home. We had a lovely brunch with Cass and gods, I missed Cass.  Cass suspects there’s love there, but I put the kibosh on that. It’s a ridiculous notion. He took me on a walk through his garden and told me all about his mother’s flowers.  We didn’t speak of you again, he made me promise to never mention you again. He also made me promise to procure a new Mind Healer. Later, well, I suppose it can’t be called anything other than making love.  I’m not positive. It’s not something I’ve much experience with or anything, but it wasn’t that fierce sort of shag we’d enjoyed previously. It was languid. It was skin on skin and lips that never parted. I know it’s folly, but I love him.

 

_ Of course, you do.  He’s Draco Malfoy. You’re a fucking Muggle.   _

 

He’s going to hurt me.  He’s going to shatter my heart into a thousand pieces and I don’t even care.  I feel alive when I’m with him. I feel my magic when I’m with him. I know I won’t get to keep him, Gemma.  I know that one day Theo is going to kill me. I know that. I’ve accepted that. He’ll need you, Draco will.  He’ll need someone to put him back together cuz he cares about me. I won’t call it love, but he talks in his sleep.  I know you hate me and I don’t even care, but be kind to him alright?

 

_ What are you saying?  You’re speaking as though it’s inevitable. _

 

Does it matter?  There’s no need to pretend to care about me anymore.  I was a means to an end and I upheld my end. I told him about you.  I know your probation ends soon and I admit I was nasty earlier. You deserved it, but this is about him.  Tonight is the Harvest Moon Gala. It’s usually a quiet affair, by invitation only. I know you weren’t invited, but that’s not the point.

 

_ What is the point, Ms Granger? _

 

This will be my last session with you.  The Ministry should owl your letter momentarily.  The Gala will be the last time I see him. I suspect he’ll come looking for you.  I don’t know why, it’s just a feeling I have. Be kind to him.

 

_ What about you Hermione?  What about you? _

 

There’s no need to pretend I ever meant anything to you, Gemma.

 

_ He’ll ask.  He’ll want answers.  What do you expect me to tell him? _

 

Lie.  I want you to lie.  Paint me however you wish.  He’ll believe you, eventually.  It was easy to lose myself in him and pretend I was finding pieces of myself because he was comfort and light and hope all wrapped up in this beautiful bow that made me feel pretty and desirable.  I might never be a brilliant witch again, but it’s not about me, not anymore. He deserves more than the scraps he’s getting and it’s time for me to walk away. 

 

_ Why would you do that— _

 

It sounds selfish I suppose, but it’s not.  I can’t have the life I want, but he can. My days are numbered Gemma and I refuse to take him down with me.

 

_ Y-you truly  _ love _ him.  I thought it was some sort of ruse, some sort of game, but y-you really love him— _

 

Until the very end.

  
  


* * *

 

Cassius Warrington nervously adjusted the stiff collar of his dress robes and gulped more than his fair share of firewhiskey.  He was exceedingly uncomfortable and if he hadn’t loved Hermione as much as he did, Cass definitely would have declined the invitation for pre-Gala drinks.

 

He avoided the piercing glares from Theodore Nott’s portraits and rocked back onto his heels.  He’d never enjoyed visiting Devil’s Lair. The name alone was enough to set him off, but he’d do nearly anything for Hermione.

 

“You’re wearing dress robes.”

 

Cass puffed out his chest with pride and tossed his blue tipped blond hair with an easy smile.  His dark blue eyes sparkled with mirth that died upon spying her husband. He tried, as far as Theo was concerned.  He knew there was a thick layer of sinister beneath the surface and Cass hoped that Hermione did not bear the brunt of it, at least not that night.

 

“You’re wearing a bloody gown.  Don’t tell me Nott took you to the shops?”  Cass inquired and bent to kiss Hermione’s hand.

 

“Of course not,” Hermione laughed and then remembered her audience.

 

Her dark eyes widened and her right hand immediately squeezed her cheeks in order to suppress her amusement.  Theo snarled and his hands clenched into fists. The Notts’ eyes flicked toward Cass and while Hermione offered a tremulous smile, Theo only nodded.

 

“Pansy sent it,” Hermione finally murmured.  “I haven’t been able to see her in awhile, and she insisted I wear this to the Harvest Moon Gala.”

 

“Parkinson threatened is more like it.  Come on then, we can’t possibly be late.  It seems Lucius has his eye on me. Can’t imagine why, can you Warrington?”  Theo stared heavily at the taller man, though he didn’t expect a response.

 

Warrington was harmless, therefore it didn’t bother him in the least when he and Hermione had forged their strange little friendship.  Why the Pureblood wanted to befriend a Muggle was beyond him, but Theo wasn’t the sort to be bothered with such things. He was much more interested in seeing Ernie Macmillan and hoped he’d be able to convince his former lover to return.

 

“If it bothers you so much, Theo, you could simply speak to Lucius.  I’m sure he’d be willing to spare a moment of his time for you.”

 

Hermione’s chin jutted forward and her diamond teardrop earrings swung to and fro.  Theo swore they mocked him. She wouldn’t have dared to utter such insolence when they were alone.  She had been pushing her limits during the past few weeks, and he didn’t like it one bit.

 

“Warrington, Apparate with her,” Theo growled angrily, which brooked no disagreement.

 

Cass helped Hermione into her heavy cloak and even clasped it for her.  While she smiled, it wasn’t the bright happiness he was used to seeing. It was subdued and tight.  He didn’t like it, not one bit, which seemed to be the running theme for the evening.

 

He held her tight and closed his eyes.  His stomach lurched as the sensation of being squeezed into the void overcame him.  The landing was a bit rough, but he managed to keep Hermione on her feet.

 

“Your shoes are very, very red,” Cass commented.

 

“Pansy’s orders.  She said the dress is black.  My cloak is black. My clutch is black.  My soul is black. Therefore, my lips and shoes should be red.  The jewellery was a nice touch. I know it isn’t her taste and Theo nearly lost his mind, which makes me suspect it’s from Malfoy.”

 

Cass blushed and Hermione knew she was spot on.  She had never been a fan of subterfuge, but it wasn’t like she could be angry with him.  What woman didn’t like gifts? She supposed he could have been less underhanded about it, but Draco Malfoy was nothing if not Slytherin.

 

“It’s just a few items from his vault.  Please don’t get your knickers in a twist.  Nott is already out of sorts—“

 

“That’s my fault,” Hermione spat.  “He discovered my stash of letters from Lucius Malfoy and discovered I’d filed the appropriate paperwork to have him be my Advocate in the event I need one.”

 

Hermione stumbled on the long walk to Malfoy Manor, but Cass was there to keep her aloft.  He was always there when she needed him and sometimes when she didn’t. While others found his blue hair strange and unseemly, she found it endearing.  During the sporadic outings to Diagon Alley when witches and wizards whispered about her, Cass was the first to leap to her defence.

 

“H, what are you doing?”  Cass tucked her petite hand into the crook of his elbow.  “You’re playing with fire as it is. Malfoy is a completely different man now and that’s your fault.  Potter has been scarce and Pansy Parkinson is sending you gowns? What the fuck is going on?”

 

“There’s a caveat in my Marriage Contract, Cass.  Lucius, Narcissa, and even Harry have been working tirelessly to discover some obscure text that would set me free, but all I really need is the Advocate.”

 

“H,” Cass yanked her off the path into a modest thicket of shrubberies.  “Are you fucking mad? The Advocate is only utilised when—“

 

Hermione covered his lips with her fingertips and shook her head.  She patted the smooth curls near her temples and pulled him toward the Manor.  It wasn’t the time to discuss the particulars. Cass didn’t need to know she had a meticulous plan.  He would only grow angry, and she’d had enough of other people’s anger, especially since she knew she would be on the receiving end of Draco’s as well.

 

She smiled as they neared the Manor.  She wasn’t fond of it, but the soothing sounds of the orchestra made her smile.  The fairy lights twinkled over her head and for a moment, she was free. She was happy and she was free.  It didn’t last. It never did, but she didn’t expect it to.

 

* * *

 

Lucius spun his wife effortlessly on the dance floor.  He smirked haughtily at his son and watched the boy’s scowl deepen.  He was absolutely positive the numerous owls sent between him and Hermione Granger were at least partially responsible for his son’s dour mood.

 

“You’re plotting,” Narcissa quipped in the midst of a quick turn.

 

“I am doing nothing of the sort,” Lucius sniffed with affected indignation, which did not fool his wife in the least.

 

Narcissa nodded politely toward Pansy Parkinson and Oliver Wood, noting their stiff demeanour with interest.  From the corner of her eye, she saw a strikingly beautiful brunette and pursed her lips accordingly. The woman was obviously trying too hard based on her revealing gown alone, but that wasn’t her issue with the witch.

 

“My eyes must be playing tricks on me in my old age, Lucius,” Narcissa’s blue eyes flashed with anger while a smile was still painted on her mauve lips.  “For a moment, I thought I saw that wretched woman Gemma Farley in attendance, but I know my husband would never do that to our son, would he?”

 

Lucius Malfoy had enough sense to appear to be chagrined, but his wife knew better.  She’d been by his side for far too many years to be fooled by the gentle caress on her waist.  He spun once more and led Narcissa from the dance floor while he instructed the orchestra to continue on with a wave of his hand.

 

She dutifully waited until they stepped onto the empty veranda before she spun on him.  Her cheeks were flushed and the moonlight reflected off her blonde hair in a magnificent fashion.  Her husband was once more stunned by her beauty, until she smacked his chest.

 

“She requested an invitation,” Lucius sighed dramatically and tossed his long blond hair over his shoulder.  “Her probation is nearly over and I believed it would be fortuitous for us to invite her. She has many connections within the Ministry as well as the fact she is Hermione Granger’s Mind Healer, which is a well-guarded secret.”

 

“You know what she did to Draco.  I know you, Lucius. You didn’t invite some bloody outcast to my Gala for her minimal connections.  You’re still hoping our son will choose an acceptable bride,” Narcissa poked her husband’s chest incessantly, and he flinched from her assault.  “He’s bound to someone else. He cares about her deeply and you can’t—“

 

“I can.  I did. I sympathise with Ms Granger.  It’s an unfortunate predicament. Mr Potter and I have spent entirely too much time together and yet, we have been unable to breach her Marriage Contract.  I have even gone so far as to speak to the Minister on her behalf and you know I detest that man. There is nothing to be done,” Lucius avoided her eyes, which was a glaringly obvious error in the face of her anger.

 

“You’re lying to me!”  Narcissa hissed. “You swore you’d never lie to me again, not after what—“

 

“There’s a caveat, does that make you happy?  It won’t make Draco happy that I can assure you.  It wasn’t my idea. I would never suggest such a thing, but that woman is quite possibly more stubborn than you and our son combined,” Lucius growled and retreated from Narcissa’s angry fingertips.

 

“Tell me what you can.”

 

Lucius sighed heavily and stared at the moon as it hung just over the nearby treetops.  This was the night everything would begin and end. It weighed heavily on his heart, but he was nothing if not a man of his word.

 

“The Advocate,” he said simply.

 

He braced his hands on the stone wall and squeezed hard.  The warm hand that covered his stroked the back of his hand, but he couldn’t look at her, not yet.  His stomach rolled with revulsion and Narcissa’s pained gasp broke his heart.

 

“This will break him,” Narcissa’s voice broke, and she wiped away an angry tear.  “We did him a disservice by remaining aloof in his childhood. Draco hasn’t the tools for dealing with overwhelming emotion and by gods, he’ll feel it when she leaves him.”

 

“Hence where Ms Farley comes in.  It was pitiful of me, I know that, but it wasn’t my idea,” Lucius embraced his wife under the twinkle of the stars and to anyone else it looked like an intimate moment.

 

“She planned for everything, didn’t she?”  Narcissa laid her cheek on her husband’s chest and listened to his heart strum.

 

“Down to her very last breath.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione and Cass paused at the grand entryway of Malfoy Manor.  It was filled with floating candles and sparkling fairy lights that made her smile.  Cass liked to see her smile, genuinely smile. It happened so seldom when she wasn’t with Malfoy.

 

He removed her cloak carefully, in order to avoid touching any bit of exposed skin and handed it to the sharply dressed house elf.  Hermione bit her cheek to keep a scathing retort to herself and took Warrington’s offered arm. She inhaled and exhaled three times and nodded.  She was ready.

 

“I believe it’s customary for the husband to escort his wife, Warrington.  I’ll take it from here,” Theo sidled into Hermione’s side and dug his fingers into her hip.

 

Cass nodded and didn’t bother to push the blond hair out of his eyes.  He liked to watch the world under a haze of electric blue. He also knew Theodore detested it, which made him love it that much more.

 

“Macmillan, wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Cass said sardonically.  

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ernie spat.

 

The quartet strode in silence toward the ballroom.  The animosity between them was high, but they maintained their composure.  The flash of cameras blinded them for a few moments, but soon, flutes of champagne were thrust into their hands and smiles were painted on their less than happy lips.

 

Cassius, in a decidedly impish moment, grabbed Ernie by the lapel and smashed his lips against the other man’s.  The camera flashes were innumerable and the whispers had nearly drowned out the waltz being played. Cass lingered longer than he should have and then smiled broadly at the crowd.  He bowed and made his quick escape.

 

“That wanker!”  Ernie hissed, which made Hermione laugh.

 

She didn’t grasp her cheeks.  She didn’t attempt to stifle the sound.  She threw her head back and laughed heartily until Theo squeezed her elbow so harshly the tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

 

“Hermione!”  Harry Potter hurried to her side, with Daphne Greengrass in tow and sought to embrace his friend.

 

Hermione strangely sunk into Theo in order to avoid the physical contact.  She knew Harry didn’t understand, but only because he didn’t want to understand.  She also knew she had vacillated in her interactions with him and that was her fault.  This wasn’t the time to delve into her inner demons. She was on task and Hermione would allow nothing to derail it, not even Harry.

 

“Potter, always interfering and seemingly unwanted from my wife’s reactions.  Greengrass, please take your toy elsewhere,” Theo sneered and shoved his wife behind him.

 

“I-you, Hermione?”  Harry tried to catch a glimpse of her, but she had turned away.

 

“This isn’t the time, Harry,” Daphne’s soft timbre tickled his ear, and he nodded as he was led away.

 

Theo’s fist clenched at his side, and he had half a mind to show his wife her worth.  There was nothing anyone could do about it anyway. She was his property. His to do with as he pleased.  He fucking owned her, and he would be damned if she would humiliate him with her insipid laughter at his expense.

 

“Nott,” Blaise Zabini greeted darkly.

 

Theo scowled at the interruption and nearly voiced his displeasure, but the cold, calculating eyes of Lucius Malfoy settled on him.  He released his ironclad grip on Hermione’s arm and watched her be led to the dance floor by none other than Draco fucking Malfoy. It’s alright, he told himself.  She’d pay for it later, she always did.

 

“Thank you.”  Hermione pasted a smile on her cheeks while the bright lights of cameras flashed around them.

 

“He was growing entirely too angry for public.  It wouldn’t do to have that splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet.”  Draco tightened his arm around her waist as they spun into a turn.

 

He could see Blaise gently leading Theo into the shadows, and fervently hoped the Italian wizard was capable of talking a bit of sense into the furious Theo.  Draco had ulterior motives, he always did, but there were greater things currently at stake.

 

“I can usually handle him, but it’s been so long since we’ve been out and about, I think he’s forgotten how to behave where I’m concerned.”  Hermione stiffened and her skin tingled where Draco’s thumb grazed against the bare skin on her lower back.

 

“It didn’t help matters that bloody Macmillan was hovering.  You shouldn’t have to handle him. He should be more than capable of controlling himself or not be an abusive ponce in general.”  Draco growled and held her hand just a touch too tightly as he finally led her from the dance floor.

 

“You should head back to your date.  I’ll be alright. I’m sure Theo is properly sorted and--”

 

“I’m not leaving you,” Draco interrupted.  “She’s a big girl. She looks to be having a marvellous time dancing with the Weasel, and who am I to interrupt?  Come on then.” Draco gently pressed his palm against the small of her back until they were in the midst of the garden.

 

“He’s going to be furious with me for being out here with you.”  Hermione’s whisper was nearly lost in the sounds of raucous laughter nearby.  “I hate how I can feel my magic when you touch me.” Her voice broke, but she was quick to collect herself.

 

“Where’s your wand?”  Draco’s fingertips stroked upwards on her spine, and Hermione stepped away from him.

 

“It broke during…the accident.  Theo said I didn’t need another without magic.”  Hermione stared up at the night sky and watched the clouds as they slowly moved and bared the stars.

 

Draco stepped behind her carefully and placed his hands on her shoulders.  He felt the spark of magic burst between them every time their skin touched.  He had grown to crave her, viewed it as an addiction even. The daring silhouette of her gown added to his desires, and he dipped his head to gently kiss her shoulder.

 

“Here,” Draco placed his wand into her hand and continued his exploration of her throat.

 

Hermione studied the familiar length of wood in her hand, yet she was understandably distracted by the warm tongue and smooth lips littering her tingling skin.  She pressed her thighs together and her teeth were firmly embedded in her bottom lip.

 

Draco nipped her earlobe as he slipped his hand into her dress.  He pushed the thin strap of her gown off her shoulder and eyed her nearly exposed breast in appreciation.  He explored the tight skin between her breasts before he paused. Draco knew he crossed the line, and he tried to care, but it was nearly impossible with the magic freely flowing between them.  He tested the limits of her acceptance and teased the underside of her left breast.

 

“I-I-we shouldn’t,” Hermione sighed.  Draco understood the words, but the moan that accompanied them caused him to press forward.

 

“Come home with me.”  Draco wished he could take back the words the moment they were spoken, but it was too late.  Hermione adjusted her gown and stepped away from his warm embrace before he had even finished speaking.  

 

“You’re being ridiculous.  You know I can’t,” Hermione shook her head and despite the tight twist of her dark hair, a few curls escaped and brushed the nape of her neck.

 

“You didn’t say you didn’t want to,” Draco kept his distance and felt perfectly comfortable as he watched her twirl his wand.

 

“Lumos.”  She whispered, and her gasp was filled with delight when the tip of Draco’s wand brought forth light.  “I would if I could, you should know that by now. You also know, it’s completely impossible. Nox.” 

 

“Hermione,” Her name was unfamiliar on his tongue, but not completely unwelcome as he tasted it.

 

“No, you don’t get to do this.  You don’t get to call me Hermione.  You’ve never once called me Hermione and you don’t get to start now.  You don’t get to manipulate me. I get enough of that at home, thank you very much.  You don’t get to pretend that you want to whisk me away from a horrific situation when you’re here with someone else,” Hermione shook Draco’s wand at him and was completely unmindful of the sparks that burst forth.  “You don’t get to touch me like you mean it when you and I both know it’s nothing more than the allure of powerful magic wreaking havoc on us. It’s completely illogical for it to be anything else. I might not have the ability to utilise my magic whenever I wish, but I am still in complete control of my faculties.”  Hermione stamped her foot, which made her black dress shimmer in the moonlight and the stone bench beside them shatter.

 

Draco wrenched his wand from her tightened fist with ease.  Hermione retreated from his ire, but he was much faster. He leaned forward and caught her around the waist.  With a single tug, she was flush against his chest. There were hundreds if not thousands of words racing through his head to refute her stance, yet he used none of them.

 

Instead, he kissed her.  It was quite chaste as far as kisses go, at least it began that way.  Nervous lips pressed together amidst shrubbery, laced with the muted sounds of the string quartet within the ballroom.  He drew her swollen bottom lip between his teeth and sighed against her slightly parted lips.

 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”  Draco whispered against the corner of her mouth and waited until she shook her head.  

 

“It’s not like this was our first kiss,” Hermione’s voice shook, and she swallowed hard.

 

“It was the end of the trial,” Draco continued as though she hadn’t spoken.  “My father made a point of speaking to you, and I didn’t quite trust him not to try something.  You were nice to him. You were nice to me. I knew you were casually dating Nott, but I didn’t care, not really.  You looked at me and told me that I had a misguided youth, but you had high hopes for me. You hoped I’d be a better man.  I  _ wanted _ to be a better man, just to see that look in your eyes again.  Then fucking Avery set his sights on you and--”

 

“And I lost my magic.”  Hermione knew she should have pushed him away and retreated to the ballroom, but she hadn’t moved an inch.

 

“Yes, but your magic is not the sum of your parts.  You are more than your magic. You were brilliant before you discovered magic, and you’re still brilliant.  You don’t have to stay with him. You don’t have to allow him to do the things he does. Do you think I don’t know?  Do you think others aren’t aware of Theo’s…tendencies? You’re not alone, Granger.” Draco rested his chin on the top of her head and very nearly cursed himself for expressing so much in one go.

 

“I am though.  My parents? I don’t even know where they are.  Theo doesn’t think the world needs more Muggles and perhaps it’s best if I forget I have Muggle parents.  I don’t have siblings or relatives or anything of the like. I’ve got Harry, but our relationship is strained at best.  Could you imagine if I told him what happened behind closed doors? I’ve researched the Wizengamot laws from the first moment I was struck.  Do you think I haven’t tried to leave? Do you think your  _ father _ hasn’t spent hours upon hours poring over documents?  There’s only one way out, Malfoy.” Hermione pushed against his chest, and he loosened his hold slightly, but not enough for her to escape his clutches.

 

“You’ve got me, Blaise, as well.  Stay with me tonight,” Draco held her still, as he knew she would baulk at the idea and flee.  “I’m not being nefarious, Granger. I’ll have my father send an owl. Despite the fact the War is long over, the Malfoy name still means something in certain circles.  Theo won’t refute a missive from Lucius Malfoy.”

 

“You’ve really thought about this.  How long, Malfoy? How long have you and Blaise and whoever else been whispering about me?”  Hermione’s tear-stained cheeks glistened in the moonlight, and Draco was hard-pressed to keep from removing them with his fingertips.

 

“A year, is that what you wish to hear, Granger?  It’s been a fucking year. I knew the moment I saw you in the kitchen.  I suspected before that, but it was easy to pretend I didn’t know, until that moment.  That moment changed everything.” Draco held her bony shoulders with sure fingers that dug into the smattering of freckles across her shoulders.

 

“I don’t understand.  Why do you even care? I thought such things were common practice in Pureblood circles.  I’d heard rumours of your father--”

 

“Don’t.  It’s not the same.  My father never willingly abused my mother.  He spent the majority of my childhood as a fucking puppet.  If it wasn’t for you, the Ministry never would have discovered how embedded the Imperius was within him.  They had to go to amazing lengths to force Rodolphus to release it. My father nearly died. I can’t speak for other families, but you’re probably right Granger.  I’m sure they took vicious pleasure in lording their strengths over their wives,” Draco’s chest heaved as it was tight with the wave of anxiety that coursed through him.  “I spent my entire childhood being a coward, and I’ve accepted it. I don’t wish to be a fucking coward any longer, and the best place to start is with you. Blaise and I have spent a year researching the fucking Binding of Magicks.  Potter too, if you’d like to know the full truth of it. It’s a bloody group effort, Granger. I refuse to watch the brightest witch of the age turn into an empty shell because of a poor excuse for a man.”

 

Hermione stretched onto her toes and pressed her wet lips against his.  Later, she wouldn’t be able to recall what possessed her to do such a thing.  He had kept an important secret from her for over a year, and she made note to deal with Harry Potter at a later date.  She only knew there was something endearing about his angst. It touched a place in her heart that she thought had died.  Draco Malfoy cared about her, and while he hadn’t said the words, the expression of his efforts said plenty.

 

“You’re wasting your time, you realise this, don’t you?”  Hermione’s trembling fingers tangled in his pale blond hair, but he ignored her in order to gently tease the corner of her mouth with his tongue.

 

She wanted to refuse him.  She wanted to run from the Manor, despite all the guests.  She wanted to run and continue to run until she was lost, but she didn’t.  She was anchored against his strong chest. She was lost in the sensation of his lips against hers, of his breaths mingled with hers.  It was the thinly veiled groan that forced her away.

 

“This is a valiant effort, Granger.”  Draco reached for her hand as she backed away from him, her toffee curls bouncing as she shook her head.

 

“Doesn’t matter.  I know the laws just as well as anyone else, Malfoy.  I’m pregnant. I’m not going anywhere.” Hermione turned on her heel and scurried up the stone steps until she was lost in a sea of intoxicated Ministry Officials, and Draco Malfoy stood alone in his parent’s garden with his fists clenched in justifiable rage.


	13. Session 100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the story tags.

**Session 100  
** **October 2001** **  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

_ Ms Granger, hello!  I’m Heidi Macavoy and I’ll be your new Mind Healer.  I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you, but I wish it was under better circumstances.  Come in, come in, sit down and we’ll get started. Would you care for a cup of tea? _

 

You’re quite perky aren’t you?  Hufflepuff I presume?

 

_ Well yes, but I don’t see how— _

 

I specifically requested Slytherin.  There's a method to my madness, not that I have anything against Hufflepuff as a whole.  Gryffindor's are entirely too headstrong and impulsive. Ravenclaw's are brilliant but they have a tendency to overanalyze and I do enough of that on my own.  Hufflepuffs are exceedingly loyal, but they tend to allow their kindness and emotions to take them over and I haven't the time nor the patience for such things.  Slytherins, on the other hand, are calm, cool and calculated, which is exactly what I need.

 

_ I appreciate your candour.  I've read Ms Farley’s notes and it seems she allowed her personal issues to interfere in your sessions, which is the reason you requested a new Counsellor.  The Minister for Magic doesn’t usually handle such things, but in your case, he made an exception. I’d appreciate it if you would give me a chance before dismissing me. _

 

At least you’ve read my file.  Fine, go on then.

 

_ What would you like to tell me? _

 

Nothing you don't already know.  I don't respond well to open-ended questions.

 

_ Obviously, all right then.  Why don’t you tell me about your husband?  I believe his name is Theodore Nott. Your file is sorely lacking information as far as he is concerned. _

 

What is there to tell, really?  He’s a Slytherin Pureblood. He courted me with insidious intentions.  I am not a woman as far as he is concerned. I’m property. I was merely a pawn in his chess game and he’s quite proud of that.  He managed to bring Hermione Granger to her knees with barely any effort at all. She was already slightly bent, if not broken, and he shattered her into a thousand shards that he now grounds beneath his foot with glee.

 

_ You’re not telling me— _

 

We were married a few months the first time he put his hands on me.  I was so shocked by it, I didn’t know what to think. He swore it was an accident and I believed him, which makes me the fool here.  

 

When I told him I was pregnant, do you know what he did?  Of course, you don't. Those little tidbits aren’t exploited by the Daily Prophet, so how would you know really?  He dragged me off to a Muggle doctor and demanded to find out the sex of our child. When he learned it was a girl, he beat it from me.  Afterwards, he told me to stop crying and fix his dinner. It’s happened twice more since then and it’s a wonder I am still capable of procreation.

 

He’s drugged me and forced me to perform for his friends while under the Imperius.  He’s hired me out, but I can’t complain about that. At least I had a choice in partner, but I refuse to speak of him, do you understand me?  He is absolutely off-limits to your prying.

 

He parades his boyfriend in his house quite proudly and there isn’t fuckall I can do about it.  He’s taken to shagging his Fervor dealer, who just so happens to be an ex-sort of-boyfriend of mine and to listen to them is revolting.

 

The only reason he doesn’t lay a finger on me now is that I’m pregnant.  It’s the only protection I have and I wager it won’t last long if the results aren’t to his liking.

 

_ I don’t—I mean— _

 

Crying?  Seriously?  Are you seriously crying?  This is why I requested a Slytherin Mind Healer.  Bloody crying, this is ridiculous. I’m not even crying and it’s my bloody life!  You haven’t the right. Consider yourself relieved of your services. I’m leaving.

 

* * *

 

 

Cass lingered outside the brick Muggle building, but Hermione never emerged.  He missed her. He missed seeing her. He missed her hugs. He even missed the way she ruffled his hair.

 

He’d sent owls and she’d responded, but it was different now.  She wasn’t rude, but she was definitely terse. He missed the way it used to be.  He knew she was plotting and knowing her the way he did, it was exceedingly dangerous, but once her mind was made up there was no stopping her.

 

“Warrington?”

 

Cass spun and nearly stumbled directly into the woman behind him.  She looked as out of place as she probably felt and he smiled. He watched her cast furtive glances toward the passing Muggles and yank her cloak that much tighter around her lithe body.

 

“Parkinson, what are you doing here?”

 

Pansy rolled her heavily kohled eyes and tossed her nearly black hair accordingly.  She huffed, but he knew the exasperation wasn’t directed at him. Cass allowed her to grip his forearm and invade his personal space, though it made him uneasy.

 

“Do you think I want to be here?  Do you honestly believe I’d venture into the land of Muggles without cause?”  She hissed. “Granger asked me to escort her home.”

 

“You’ve seen her then?”  Cass inquired excitedly. “How is she?  Is she well? She’s been avoiding me and—“

 

“Gods, shut up.”  Pansy glowered at a curious Muggle and they waited until the man hurried past them.  “I shouldn’t even be speaking with you. She’ll be angry with me and I’d rather not deal with her ire on top of Theo’s.  She’s as well as can be expected, I suppose. Theo allows me to visit with her, which is for the best really. He knows I would never stand for his abuses.”

 

Cass toyed with the blue strands that had fallen into his eyes and pursed his lips.  It was a small consolation that his best mate wasn’t currently suffering abuses, but he knew it was only a matter of time.  It was always only a matter of time and he feared for her.

 

“Why you?  I don’t understand.  You were never particularly close.  What the fuck is going on, Parkinson?”

 

Pansy yanked Cass to the corner of the brick building and kept a careful eye on the green door across the way.  The last thing she needed was to be spotted speaking with Cassius Warrington when Granger gave her explicit instructions to avoid him at all costs.  Personally, Pansy believed it was utter and complete folly for Granger to avoid her closest friends, but the stubborn wench wouldn’t hear otherwise.

 

“She’s pregnant,”  Pansy breathed.

 

“Yeah, I know that.  I managed to get that much out of a ridiculously intoxicated Malfoy,”  Cass shrugged.

 

“I’m helping her alright?  Nott isn’t aware yet and we’d like to keep it that way,”  Pansy’s plum fingernails dug into his forearm and Cass frowned.

 

“Fuck,”  he breathed.  “She’s aiming for the Advocate.”

 

“It’s dangerous, but it’s not likely she’d listen to me anyway.  I’ve just got to get her to her appointment and Confund the bloody Muggle.”

 

Revulsion was written all over Pansy’s face and Cass didn’t blame her.  He didn’t detest Muggles, but it wasn’t the same for her. Pansy had never truly dealt with them and it obviously made her uneasy.  She consistently shrunk away from their close proximity as they passed and Cass was suddenly worried.

 

“How on earth are you going to manage that when you can barely stand to share the pavement?  Why the fuck do you have to Confund the Muggle? I’m—“ Cass paused with his lips agape and his eyes wide.  “She’s going to instigate an explosive row, afterwards, isn’t she? Fuck, he’ll kill her, Parkinson.”

 

“Don’t you think I’ve tried to tell her?!”  Pansy shrieked quite loudly and drew more than a few disapproving glares.  “She’s determined to keep it and she needs to keep it in order to invoke the Advocate.  Tell me that bloody cameo is Charmed.”

 

“W-what cameo?”  Warrington’s pale brows furrowed in contemplative confusion.

 

“Fuck, what good are you?  Draco! He sent her a fucking owl.  She refused to respond, but she sure as fuck took that little box.  She cried and Granger doesn’t cry. She muttered something about her mother and hasn’t taken it off since.  She gasped when she put it on, I know there’s fucking magic in there, Warrington. You best find out. If I wind up with a dead Granger on my hands, Draco will never forgive me.  You’ve got to leave, she’s due any moment. I’ll send you an invite for tea. It’s the best I can do. Go!”

 

Pansy shoved Cass and while her words swirled in his head, he hurried away.  It was a severely dangerous game Pansy and Hermione were playing. It scared him a fair bit.  Hermione was the closest thing to family he’d had in a very long time and the idea of losing her, well no, it wasn’t an option.

 

Cassius stepped into a nondescript shop near the corner and nodded toward the timid owner.  He knew the man well and the Squib was discreet. Cass stepped into the loo and Disapparated, intent upon speaking with Draco Malfoy immediately.  
  
  


* * *

 

Harry Potter hated Malfoy Manor.  He hated the way sounds echoed off the walls.  He hated the ridiculously pompous décor. He hated the way the portraits glowered at him when he wandered into the wrong wing.  If it wasn’t for Hermione, Harry knew he wouldn’t be there.

 

He wanted to be angrier than he was, but he hadn’t the heart.  Ordinarily, he would send Ron an owl and the two would share a few owls until Harry felt better.  He couldn’t do that this time around. Ron was busy with his Muggle and Harry didn’t feel it was appropriate to share Hermione’s secrets.

 

It was still strange to keep things from Ron.  They had maintained a closeness even with so much distance and time between them.  Harry regretted the way his relationship with Hermione had drifted, fractured even, once she had lost her magic.

 

“You’re here again?”  Draco Malfoy scowled and flounced onto the leather sofa nearest the door.

 

Harry ignored the blond and focused on the books laid across the conference table. He was never one for research. In fact, it made his eyes cross and his head hurt in such a way it reminded him of Voldemort poking into his brain. 

 

“You could help.  There’s an idea,” Harry smirked.  “Your mother dragged your father off to bed.  She said something about how she was tired of finding her husband asleep on his desk with parchment stuck to his face.  It seems to me everyone is working pretty damn diligently for Hermione, except you.”

 

“You can fuck right off, Potter,”  Draco snarled angrily and toyed with his silver flask.  “Why are you even here? You didn’t give a shit when she lost her magic.  You haven’t been there for her in years and now suddenly we’re all supposed to rush to aid the illustrious Harry Potter because he’s deigned to gift us with his presence?  Fuck off.”

 

Harry marked his place in  _ Marriage Rites _ :  _ A Guide to Proper Enslavement _ and carefully shut the revolting book.  He rubbed the crease between his eyes and really attempted to see beyond Draco Malfoy’s ire.

 

“I-I did something.  It was years ago and it’s haunted me ever since.”  Harry sighed and looked longingly toward the decanter of firewhiskey perched on the mantle.  “I’ve alluded to it, but I don’t speak about it. Daphne says that I need to face it and she’s right.  She also says you love Hermione. Daphne knows you better than I do, so I have to trust her on that. I expect to marry her and you mean a lot to her.  Well, Hermione means a lot to me and I-well, suffice it to say, I owe her.”

 

“What the fuck did you do to her, Potter?”  Draco leapt from the black leather settee with cheeks flushed with rage.  

 

“I’m not going to tell you, Malfoy!”  Harry scrambled from his seat and searched his back pocket for his wand.

 

"Did you hurt her?  Answer me! Did you fucking hurt her?!"  Draco stalked toward the dark-haired wizard and Harry gulped.

 

“Malfoy, don’t!  You don’t understand.  We promised!” Harry Potter slowly backed away from the angry blond wizard with his hands raised in supplication.

 

"Legilimens!"  Draco snarled and easily plucked through the Chosen One's mind to delve into long, hidden truths.

 

_ “I can’t believe he left,”  Hermione sniffled in despair. _

 

_ Harry’s fist grasped the horcrux lying against Hermione’s chest and he sighed angrily.  He knew the effects it had on them, but it seemed Ron was much more susceptible. He wanted to rip it from her neck and hurl it into the corner of the tent, but he didn’t. _

 

_ Instead, he tugged Hermione into his arms and held her while her shoulders shook.  He wasn’t positive his friendship with Ron could come back from such betrayal. It grieved him sorely, even as the horcrux shifted between their bodies. _

 

_ It was warmly nestled between Hermione’s breasts and Harry vaguely wondered when he had begun to hold her so tightly.  His palm flattened on the small of her back, his fingers barely gracing the subtle curve at the top of arse. He pressed her closer and completely ignored the way she squirmed in his arms. _

 

_ Harry inhaled deeply and licked his lips.  His left hand slowly slid up Hermione’s spine and latched onto the back of her neck while his right squeezed a denim covered arse cheek.  His cock twitched in his denims and seconds later, he was nudging her toward the narrow bed. _

 

_ Hermione winced from the weight and heat of the horcrux around her neck, but she was more disturbed by Harry’s overtures.  She withdrew her arms from around his waist and pressed her palms into his chest. She struggled and suddenly paused as she felt his arousal against her thigh. _

 

_ “We need this.  We deserve this,”  Harry mumbled. _

 

_ “Harry?  What are you doing?  You don’t—“ _

 

_ Harry silenced her with his lips and simultaneously pushed her onto the bed nestled into the corner.  He grasped her hands in his and quickly laid on top of her. Hermione stilled and that pleased him. He liked the way her breasts felt against his chest and the burn of the locket between them. _

 

_ Hermione’s eyes were widened with realised terror.  Every move she made caused excruciating pain. She knew it was the horcrux, but her arms were leaden and refused to adhere to her demands.  She whimpered in distress when Harry drew her arms over her head and straddled her thighs. _

 

_ “It’s the only way to destroy it, Hermione,”  Harry nodded knowingly. “I can feel it. Our love will destroy it.  Love always wins in the end.” _

 

_ “This isn’t you, Harry.  It’s the horcrux. You’ve got to take it off me,”  Hermione’s cheeks were flushed with embarrassment as she begged her best friend to stop. _

 

_ His eyes were glassy and she knew this wasn’t her Harry.  This wasn’t her friend. This was a byproduct of Voldemort’s soul but it didn’t alter her feelings of disgust.   _

 

_ She would not let this break her.  She would get through this.  _

 

_ “You're right. I'll get to it. Let me just get these off you first,” Harry purred and drew Hermione’s shirt off, inadvertently freeing her hands.  _

 

_ “This isn’t you, Harry.  Please, don’t do this,” Hermione slapped at his bare chest, determined to free herself. _

 

_ “What if it is?”  Harry crooned and flexed his hips. _

 

_ In a moment of outraged desperation, Hermione’s fingers grasped the dangling horcrux.  She yanked, hissing as it warmed against her palm just as it snapped free of Harry’s neck.  She hurled it toward the tent flap and felt Harry stiffen above her. _

 

_ Harry covered his mouth with both hands, gagging, devastation speckled in his green eyes.  He averted his gaze but it was too late. He had seen too much. He had done too much. _

 

_ His tears meant nothing to her and Harry had enough sense to keep his hands to himself, but the damage was done.  The bile lodged in his throat, nearly choking him as her face contorted. _

 

_ “You ruined everything,”  Hermione hiccoughed. “I can never be with Ron now.  He’ll know and I can’t have that. We can’t have that.  We’ve got a war to end,” She sat up and looked at him then and he shrunk away from her venom.  “We’re never going to tell a soul, do you understand me?” _

 

_ “Hermione, I-” _

 

_ “Stay the fuck away from me, Harry.” _

 

Draco Malfoy withdrew from Potter’s mind with a pale hand over his mouth and bile lodged in his throat.  He felt it burn his throat, much the way his eyes burned into his nemesis. At that moment, he was an angry, misguided child that embraced the abhorrence of his youth.

 

“Get the fuck out of my house,”  Draco snarled.

 

“Malfoy,” Harry stumbled away from the wizard with cold sweat across his brow, “your father said—“

 

“I don’t give a shit what he said!  Get out!” Draco upended his father’s massive mahogany desk and watched the inkpots crash to the floor.

 

“I understand you’re upset,”  Harry mumbled. “I still haven’t forgiven myself if that makes you feel any better.  I probably never will. It doesn’t matter that she blames the Horcrux and Voldemort, I will always blame myself.”

 

“Good, you vile piece of shit,”  Draco roared and yanked on the roots of his mussed blond hair.

 

“I-I’ve seen her,”  Harry offered.

 

Draco groaned and slid against the rough wall to the floor.  He propped his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands.  It was obvious Potter wasn’t going to leave. Instead, Draco was going to be tortured by being forced to listen to the sound of that man’s voice and hear of the woman he hadn’t seen in weeks.

 

“Stop talking to me,”  Draco demanded.

 

“She’s still wearing that cameo you gave her.  I know you gave it to her. I didn’t get to speak to her or anything, but I saw her walking along the pavement with that bloody cameo in her fist.  She was crying. Parkinson was with her. You'd know that if you ever went home," Harry stated in that irritating matter-of-fact manner of his.

 

“I can’t fucking go home.  I can never go home again,”  Draco punched the floor angrily.  “She’s there, you arse. Her scent lingers in my bedding.  Her fucking toiletries are littered all over my fucking bathroom.  Her favourite books are scattered on my desk. It was  _ our _ home and I can’t go back there without her.”

 

Draco refused to cry.  He refused to allow the tears to spill down his cheeks.  He’d already done that once in his life and nearly died. He wasn’t looking to repeat it.

 

“I always thought she had a bit of a soft spot for you.  She was always worried about you. Drove me a bit mad really,”  Harry sniffed. “Here I was busy trying to save the Wizarding World and she was always telling me how wrong I was about you.  Suppose she was right after all.”

 

Harry helped himself to a tumbler of firewhiskey and hissed as it burned its way down his throat.  He really enjoyed the sensation and the way it numbed his senses. He didn’t want to remember that night with Hermione.  If he could have extracted that memory for all times, Harry would have gladly done so.

 

“Shut the fuck up and get out of my house before I do something I probably won’t regret,”  Draco muttered.

 

“Would hitting me make you feel better?”  Harry half offered with a lazy shrug.

 

"No.  Wait. Yes, definitely yes,"  Draco pushed himself to his feet and stalked toward the dark-haired wizard. 

 

Draco’s curled fist smashed into Harry Potter’s nose with a sickening crunch.  His knuckles stung, but there was something about seeing the blood splatter across Potter’s cheeks that eased his inner rage.  Round spectacles bounced on the floor, cracked, and slid to a stop, which made Draco smile.

 

“Fucking hell, Malfoy,”  Harry groaned. “Feel better?”

 

“No!”  Draco shouted.  

 

He studied the cuts along his knuckles and flexed his fingers.  He knew he’d require a Healing Spell and perhaps a Pain Potion, but Draco didn’t care.  He wanted the wretched feeling of loss to wane.

 

“You broke my nothe,”  Harry lisped. “Epithkey.  Dammit, fith me!”

 

“Episkey,”  Draco snarled and smiled sadistically when Potter yelped.

 

“You’ve got anger issues,”  Harry grumbled and set his spectacles on his nose as he lurched to his feet.  He probably should have repaired them, but seeing the glint of utter and complete fury still flicker in Malfoy’s eyes, Harry thought it best to wait.

 

"Anger issues?  Anger issues? Of course, I've got anger issues!"  Draco roared. "She married Nott! She chose him! She didn't even fucking like him!  Do you think I didn't see them together? She barely tolerated his touch. Why! Why did she do that?”

 

Draco’s cheeks pinkened and his blond hair was a mussed disaster.  Harry had never seen the bloke so out of sorts. He suddenly felt uncomfortable with the raw emotion as it emanated from the other man.  It was one thing to watch a young boy cry tears in frustration, yet it was quite another to watch a man fall to pieces as his heart shattered around him.

 

“You obviously care about her—“  Harry began.

 

“Care about her?  Care about her?! I fucking love her,”  Draco’s voice broke and his fingers shook until his wand clattered to the floor.

 

“What about her though—“  Harry was remiss to approach the man, but he also felt incredibly awkward.

 

“WHAT ABOUT ME?!”  Draco punched the wall and keened in agony.  “C-can you answer that?” He gasped and cradled his swollen hand.  “What. About. Me?”

 

“Malfoy—“  Harry wiped his green eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

“No, Mr Boy Who Knows Fucking Everything, oh wait, you don’t.  You’re merely the Boy Who Lived to be a Twat. What about me? Sh-she left.  She fucking left me. I never knew,” Draco sucked a ragged breath through his teeth, “it could be like that.”

 

“Like what?” Harry manoeuvred the disastrous space carefully and approached the distraught wizard. 

 

"I feel as though I was born when she kissed me.  I died when she left but, for those few months? For those few months, I was alive,"  Draco dropped his head and no longer attempted to shield the dampness on his cheeks. 

 

“You didn’t honestly think it could go anywhere, did you?”  Harry scoffed. “You had your chance and you didn’t take it.  She married Nott and ya sure, you had a few good shags, but—“

 

Harry choked and his feet dangled from the floor.  He was amazed at Draco’s speed, not to mention strength.  The pale fingers dug into his throat and it was difficult to breathe, but Harry didn’t move.  He allowed Draco to apply pressure and maintained eye contact until Draco finally released him.

 

Draco wiped his face with the back of his hand and ignored the bogies and tears smeared across his cheeks.  His lip bled where he had bitten it and he could taste the copper on his tongue. He knew he should have apologised to Potter, but he wasn’t fucking sorry.  Instead, he grasped his hair in his hands, yanked until it stung, and released a primal scream.

 

“Feel better yet?”  Harry gagged and massaged his throat.

 

Draco’s fist flew so quickly, Harry merely winced.  There was something satisfying about seeing Potter crumble, but Draco didn’t stop there.  He struck the wizard once, twice, three times before he relented. In a final bout of rage and frustration, Draco kicked the man’s ribs and spat on Potter’s cheek.

 

“Now I feel better.”

  
  
  
  
  



	14. Session 107

**Session 107  
** **December 2001  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

  _Hermione Granger, Adelaide Murton, pleasure to make your acquaintance_ . _Why don’t we skip over the niceties and get directly to the issue at hand?  From what I understand, I'll be your third Counsellor. Your first lasted for quite some time and your second only one session, would you care to discuss?_

 

Gemma Farley decided her personal issues were more important than my well being.  Heidi Macavoy was entirely too perky for my liking and she cried. She bloody cried.  I can’t do anything with that. How am I supposed to delve into the more debased moments of my life if my Mind Healer is going to cry when I’ve barely touched on them?

 

_I don't believe we'll have such issues, Ms Granger.  Now, according to your file, you're currently married to Theodore Nott.  You're having an extramarital affair with Draco Malfoy. You're no longer close with either Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley.  You spend an extraordinary amount of time with Cassius Warrington and lately, Pansy Parkinson. It seems you're also pregnant.  Have I missed anything?_

 

I was having—I mean, I suppose it could be construed as an affair.  It’s over now.

 

_How does that make you feel?  Before you shout at me, actually think about it.  Delve into your feelings on the matter rather than being so pragmatic about everything.  How does it make you feel to know that you’re Contracted to Theo Nott? How does it make you feel to know that Dissolution of Marriage is nearly impossible in the Wizarding World?  How does it make you feel to know that you may never gain your freedom? How does it make you feel to give up the one spot of happiness in your life for whatever reasonings and I’m assuming you do have them.  Tell me, Ms Granger, how do you feel about all of it?_

 

How do you think I feel?!  I’m furious about it, about all of it.  I hate Theo. I fucking hate him. I hate that he lied to me.  I hate that he fooled me and so easily as well. I hate that he never cared for me at all.  I hate that he pushed me toward his mate. I hate that I liked it. I hate myself for feeling the way I do and I know I can’t change that.  I just keep hoping it’ll fade in time and that I’ll be alright. I hate the antiquated laws of the Wizarding World and I hate that I can’t change them because who is going to listen to some Muggleborn witch that’s not even a witch anymore, but that’s not even the worst part!

 

_What is the worst part?_

 

You’d think it would be the beatings.  You think that it would be the way he tears me down to make himself feel better.  You think it was any combination of those things, but it’s not. I’m pregnant and I don’t know—

 

_Here’s a handkerchief, Ms Granger.  Take all the time you need._

 

My husband never loved me.  I know that now, but it hurts.  It hurts me to know that he never felt anything at all for me.  It tears me up quite a bit actually and I know it shouldn’t. It’s not my fault.  At least, I’m fairly certain it’s not my fault. He prefers blokes and I don’t even care.  He prefers blokes and he chose me anyway. I was vulnerable and it was easy to believe his lies rather than look any deeper.  I didn’t want to be alone anymore, which sounds so stupid, doesn’t it? I’m an intelligent woman. Magic doesn’t define me. I was just so sad, which is weak as far as excuses go.  I was sad and he made me less sad and look what I’ve done.

 

_What’s the worst part, Ms Granger?_

 

You’re quite intuitive.  I like that as much as I don’t.  I won’t be able to get away with much, will I?  Alright then, the worst part. The worst part is I’m pregnant and I don’t know who the father of my child is.  That’s the first time I’ve said that out loud and it makes me feel dirty.

 

_Was your goal procreation?_

 

N-no, not at all.  I had Cass pick up my birth control from the Muggle chemist.  I dutifully took it every day, just as directed. Theo Cast a Contraceptive Charm before and after just to make sure that I would never bear his children.  I understand that nothing is completely effective, but I’m right fucked.

 

_What about Mr Malfoy?  Have you spoken with him since the end of your affair?  Did he Cast Contraceptive Charms as well? What about the interactions of Fervor with your Muggle medicines?  Have you studied the ramifications of pregnancy while addicted to nefarious Potions?_

 

Pansy’s helping me wean off the Fervor.  I don’t know anything about Fervor other than what I’ve heard.  It’s addictive sure, but as for the side effects, I just don’t know.  I-I’ve considered ending the pregnancy. I’ve thought about it quite a lot.  Cass is strangely silent on the subject, not that I blame him. Pansy thinks that it’s absolutely barbaric that Muggles would even consider such a thing.

 

_Where do you stand on the matter, Ms Granger?_

 

I think it’s a very personal decision.  I can’t speak for all women and I wouldn’t want anyone to speak for me.  I just know that it wasn’t the right choice for me. Perhaps I’ll change my mind, I don’t know.  I haven’t much time left to decide. I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer.

 

_You’re absolutely correct.  Despite the fact I’m Slytherin, I am not a Pureblood witch.  While it is considered an ethical grey area to speak of myself, I will say my father was the sort of wizard I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.  Suffice it to say, I’m well versed in Muggle medical techniques and yes, that knowledge includes termination. You must deep dig within yourself, Hermione and make the best decision for you._

 

I think if it was before, I wouldn’t hesitate.

 

_Before what?_

 

I’ve lost—no, my husband has relieved me of the responsibility of two children already.  I know they weren’t children yet and all that scientific jargon so please don’t lecture me.  They were potential children and he beat them from me. They were girls you see and while Theo doesn’t want to breed with me, he would have kept a son.  He would have killed me, but my child would have lived.

 

_You’re waiting to determine the sex of the child, aren’t you then?_

 

Is that wrong of me?  I’m nearly eighteen weeks and Pansy is taking me for a scan.  She also said there’s a spell, but I don’t want her to have to lie to Theo.  She shouldn’t be any more involved than she already is. There's a plan in place to utilise the Confundus Charm just in case.  I'm quite worried about it.

 

_Ms Granger, I’m more than capable of Casting the spell.  I am fully trained as a Healer despite my choice to work as a Counsellor._

 

You wouldn't tell him, right?  Would it remain as confidential as our sessions?

 

_I’m slightly saddened you would ask me that, but I also understand.  Yes, Ms Granger. Whatever is discussed is confidential and when our sessions conclude, I will destroy your records if that is your wish.  The Ministry of Magic has no need of your secrets._

 

Th-thank you.  I can’t tell you what that means to me.  Would you—

 

_Congratulations, it’s a girl._

 

That was an impressive bit of non-verbal magic.  Is it strange that I’m relieved? It’s silly. I know by keeping her I’m walking into death, but I can’t not do it.  What if—what if she’s Malfoy’s? I can’t risk it.

 

_Do not forget about the Advocate.  You look surprised, Ms Granger. Did you not think I would research my patient?  I have an affinity for such things and I believed you would appreciate my efforts.  It will be dangerous, but you’re a determined young woman. I would suggest making contact with your chosen Advocate as soon as possible.  It would be best to have a Charmed piece of jewellery or something small and easily concealed kept on your person. The object could be used for contact in a dire situation.  The Ministry will be forced to act once the Advocate is properly contacted and they will take your husband into custody. How long they keep him detained relies entirely upon the severity of your injuries.  In your current condition, I don't suggest you tempt the fates._

 

Why are you helping me?

 

_Without waxing poetic Ms Granger, it’s my job.  Also, there was once a time when I to was the victim of an incredibly binding Marriage Contract without hope of escape._

 

If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?  

 

_I killed him, of course._

 

* * *

 

Pansy Parkinson could not say she enjoyed wandering Devil’s Lair.  She also couldn’t say she was particularly fond of the abysmal sounds that emanated from Theodore Nott’s bedchamber.  In fact, she wasn’t fond of anything these days, except a certain Muggleborn witch that had burrowed beneath her skin.

 

If she was asked how it happened, she wasn’t sure she’d even have an answer.  It had simply happened and she accepted it the way she accepted most things. It was easier that way.

 

Pansy didn’t like to dwell on the darker periods of her life.  She didn’t like the way it made her feel. She didn’t like the guilt that crept up in the dead of the night when she recalled her culpability as far as the War was concerned.  Instead, she focused her energies on Hermione Granger. It was her form of penance.

 

“You’ve got to take the Potion.  If he spots you bent over the toilet, you’re right fucked, Granger,” Pansy crinkled her nose in utter and complete distaste and turned on the taps.

 

“I have taken it.  It isn’t working,” Hermione grumbled and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

 

Pansy refused to help Hermione to her feet.  She knew those hands had been braced against the floor tiles.  She didn’t deal in filth. She hated dirty hands and Oliver said perhaps it was because she felt dirty all around, but she didn’t like to entertain that line of thinking.

 

Oliver Wood, now that was a man that made her forget.  He was the man that was like the warmth of the sun on a summer day.  He was a cool breeze that soothed her surly disposition, but he couldn't help her now.  She couldn't tell him what she was doing. His Gryffindor nature would want to barge in and make a mess of things and that was entirely too dangerous; not to mention that Pansy had been sworn to secrecy.

 

“Wash your face.  Scrub your hands. Do something about that dragon breath.”

 

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed with difficulty.  She appreciated Pansy's candour even if the witch was incredibly abrasive.  It was much better than dealing with Cassius Warrington's constant fretting.  She hadn't the strength to calm his nerves when hers were utterly frayed.

 

“Have you seen him?” Hermione inquired after she spat her mint toothpaste into the sink.

 

“No.  I’ve avoided him because I didn’t want to lie to you and I didn’t want to listen to you go on and on about him.  It hasn’t saved me from it, obviously. I’d tell you how pathetic you are, but you’re a Gryffindor. You already know,”  Pansy smirked and gestured toward the bedchamber impatiently. “Get a move on woman, we’re going to be late.”

 

“We don’t have to do this.  I told you that my Healer—“

 

“Granger, Nott will require proof.  Stop worrying about your precious Muggles.  I’m not going to torture the bloke, but I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.  Even you have to admit he’s a bit of a twat.”

 

Pansy tore through Hermione’s wardrobe and grumbled.  Despite their shopping trip to Milan, there wasn’t much left Hermione could wear.  Her waist was expanding at an alarming rate and it was growing increasingly difficult to conceal her condition.

 

“I know, but my options are limited.  He’s the only Muggle doctor that doesn’t want to talk to me about my options.  I suspect he’s probably a Squib or something. It isn’t normal to ignore bruises the way he does,” Hermione crinkled her nose at the flower patterned skirt and shook her head.

 

“You haven’t got options, Granger!  This is it. We’ve got this plan and that’s all there is.  Stop shaking your head. The skirt is lovely, but oh fuckall, what have you been eating?  This fit last week!” Pansy muted her angry shriek and actually flinched when a door slammed along the corridor.

 

“Strangely, the only thing I can manage to stop revisiting is chocolate cake.  I don’t even like chocolate for Circe’s sake, but it doesn’t matter. I eat a lot of it, stop judging me.  What about that green dress in the back? It’s casual and covered in those white flowers. Patterns hide a multitude of sins,” Hermione smiled, quite pleased with herself.

 

“Merlin, Granger actually paid attention while I chattered about fashion?”

 

Pansy tossed Hermione the dress and sprawled across the four-poster bed.  It wasn’t as soft as hers. The bedding was atrociously dark and she knew that was Theo’s doing.  She made a mental note to procure Hermione new bedding and perhaps a lovely duvet as well. Pansy swore only funeral processions housed so much fucking black.

 

She’d never liked Theodore Nott, not even when they were children, but it wouldn’t be polite to say so then.  It was different now. Pansy swore she could feel his animosity flow toward her in waves and for some reason, it pleased her greatly.  She knew his secrets, not that she’d ever tell, yet it made her feel powerful and part of her hoped it scared him just a bit.

 

Pansy recalled his late night library sessions with that insipid Weasley girl.  She knew they were plotting then, but she didn’t know Granger, not really. She hadn’t bothered with the girl and now well, she still didn’t wish she had.  Hermione Granger wasn’t the sort of woman you gravitated toward. She was the sort you avoided if you didn’t want a headache. Of course, now that Pansy knew Hermione on a deeper level, no, the woman still caused her head to ache, but it was tolerable.

 

“You’re thinking about him.  I can always tell,” Hermione huffed.  

 

“What the fuck does it matter?  Can we go now?” Pansy pursed her lips and with her arched eyebrows, she actually looked utterly furious, but Hermione knew better.

 

Hermione slipped her feet into her stylish yet sensible grey boots and pretended she wasn't sporting shades of Slytherin.  She didn't bother telling Theo her plans. She'd noticed how he didn't seem to care what she did as long as she was in Pansy or Warrington's company and she planned to badger Pansy about it.

 

“Why doesn’t Theo care where I go when I’m with you or Cass?”

 

Hermione gripped Pansy’s forearm and refused to take a singular step until her question was answered.  Pansy continuously avoided any and all questions if she could help it, but she hated to be late. It was one of the few things they actually had in common.

 

“It’s a Pureblood thing, alright?” Pansy tapped her black-heeled boot and scowled.  “Nott can’t object. It’s like there are all these unwritten rules that passed down from generation to generation.  I can’t be bothered to remember them all and my parents don’t even care anymore. The portraits have been shoved into the attic space since the end of the War.  Nott, on the other hand, well he’s still got his father and his grandfather’s portraits about. Strangely, he’s very weak-willed. He’d never go against his father’s wishes and that’s why he’d never be open in his relationships.”

 

“That’s ridiculously stupid,” Hermione scoffed.

 

The two women, as different as night and day, walked arm in arm down the pavement without a bounce to their step.  They were both deep in thought and made a strange sight. They didn’t pay the passersby any mind, it just wasn’t their way.

 

“It’s just the way things are, Granger.  It’s how they’ve always been. I can’t say if it’s wrong or right, it just is.  You should be grateful for it, really. Without me and Cass, I’m sure you’d be the victim in one of Nott’s debaser games and from the sounds of it, Krum is painfully well endowed,”  Pansy sneered, but the gulp of trepidation made Hermione take pause.

 

There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but Pansy wasn’t the kind of woman that was forthcoming with confidences.  Hermione almost wished the Weasleys had adhered to the traditions just so that she could soak up the knowledge of it all. She was woefully unprepared and it had hurt her in the end.  Everything hurt in the end.

 

“I hope—“

 

“No, don’t waste your time with hope, Granger.  It’s akin to pissing in the wind. This will work.  We will get you out. Repeat it. Live it. Believe it.”

 

Pansy's seriously no-nonsense demeanour was nothing to scoff at.  Hermione nodded and allowed her quiet determination to shine through, even though she didn't quite believe it, not yet.  It all depended on Pansy's nonverbal wand work and Hermione wasn't fond of putting her life in the hand of someone else.

 

“I need to see him,” Hermione whispered.

 

“Dammit Granger, that’s a terrible idea.  We agreed—“

 

“No, Pansy.  You agreed. I need to see him, just from afar.  If he’s happy it’s worth it, do you understand?” Hermione pleaded and pushed open the office door.

 

Pansy stamped her foot and tossed her hair, which almost caused Hermione to laugh at the sight.  She knew better than to mention stallions, but Pansy really did remind Hermione of an angry horse.  She watched the way Pansy released her breath. Pansy knew something and she was avoiding Hermione’s gaze in order to avoid the truth.  Finally, Pansy’s shoulders slumped and she met the piercing brown eyes littered with curiosity.

 

“How could he ever be happy without you?”

 

* * *

 

“Draco?  Are you here?  Cassius said you were upstairs but I don’t—oh, there you are,” Narcissa Malfoy frowned in confusion. “Draco, why are you sat on the floor?  Are you ill?”

 

Draco moaned against the cold porcelain and forced his eyes to open.  His arm tingled as the blood flowed and it was then he realised he had been sleeping against the toilet.

 

“Go away,” he grumbled.

 

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Narcissa primly perched on the edging of the bathing tub and clucked her tongue in that disapproving manner she had perfected over the years.  "Draco, you could do so much better. I realise your magicks have been tied to the girl, but these sorts of dramatics are a touch ridiculous. In fact, I received an owl from Mrs Parkinson and she informed me that witch you fancied had returned to the Wizarding World.  From the gossip, it's said she was on Restriction due to her parent's involvements in the War. It couldn't hurt—"

 

“Stop it,” Draco snapped.  “It’s bad enough I had to hear it from _her_ , I'm not going to listen to it from you as well.  If I wanted Gemma fucking Farley, don't you think I would have tracked her down?  I realise she was a slag, but honestly, Mother, if I had truly cared about the woman I wouldn't be sat here lamenting my misfortune and nursing a horrific hangover."

 

Narcissa carefully concealed her feelings on the matter.  She had never approved of the Farley girl, despite her flawless stock.  There was something about her that was insidious, which was saying a lot as far as Slytherin were concerned.  When Draco had confessed the witch had slagged about, Narcissa hadn’t been surprised and had quite honestly been relieved.

 

“Cassius Warrington hand delivered a missive from Ms Granger.  I do believe your father expected it was coming. He seemed fairly pleased as to the contents,”  Narcissa primly folded her hands and lightly tapped the toe of her boots against the tile. “In fact, your father agreed to a Yule party of sorts.  I haven’t decided on the colour scheme or the guest list as of yet, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

 

Draco knew his mother was trying to distract him and he appreciated her efforts.  He also sort of wanted to tear off his ears rather than listen to her blather on about yet another fucking party.  It was always something as far as the Malfoys were concerned. It was part of the reason he had purchased his own home.  It saved him from many familial obligations.

 

“A solstice celebration, Mother?  I hardly think—“

 

“That’s perfect, Draco!” Narcissa sighed in contentment.  “I’ll have Brisby draw up the invitations immediately.  A Solstice Celebration. Invitation Only. Three days should be sufficient, don’t you think?  When I was a child the celebrations were easily a week, but I believe three days should be more than enough.

 

“Not Brisby, he’s my elf I’ll have you know and I’ve got, well I’ve got plans for him, alright?  Leave him be,” Draco scowled.

 

Lucius Malfoy paused in the corridor and decided against barging into Draco’s lavatory.  He had absolutely no interest in yet another discussion on Yuletide festivities. He didn’t care about how trees needed to be decorated or what sort of food should be scattered across the buffet.  As long as the guests kept their fucking fingers out of his liquor cabinet, he would be satisfied.

 

He had wanted to speak with his son concerning Hermione Granger, but from the sounds of it, Draco wasn’t up to the task.  Lucius swore he could smell the alcohol seeping from his son’s pores even from the safety of the corridor and retreated.  It wasn’t a pressing matter, not really.

 

“Cissa,” Lucius called.  “When Draco has collected himself, tell him to see me in my study.”

 

He didn’t wait for a reply.  He had owls to send and needed to speak with his solicitor as well.  Lucius smirked in surprise as he realised his euphoria came on the heels of tragedy.  Of course, the tragedy hadn’t occurred yet, but Ms Granger had planned everything so meticulously, he supposed it was only a matter of time; he prayed he had enough.

 

“He’s going to want to talk about her too.  Why does everyone wish to torture me? I know I fucked up alright?  I know none of this is what you planned. I know I was supposed to be a dutiful heir and marry a perfect Pureblood witch that would bore me to tears and send me to an early grave.  I know it!” Draco spat quite angrily. “Did you ever think to ask me what I wanted? Did you ever think that maybe I’d done enough for my family when I became a Death Eater in order to save your fucking lives?  No, you don’t get to glower at me like I’m some spoilt tot. I’m an adult dammit and yeah, I’ve cocked it up, but it doesn’t change the fact that I did this. You didn’t have anything to do with it and as much of a mess as it all is, I’m honestly proud of that.”

 

Draco sagged against the bathing pool and mopped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of last night’s dress shirt.  He felt like death, if death had feelings. He was miserable and the pounding of his head made everything worse, but nothing topped the presence of his mother.

 

“I thought you’d find a witch to make you happy,” Narcissa whispered. “I suppose I believed you’d find a woman you liked enough to pursue if I kept offering up witches for your choosing.  You returned to finish your education and while your father scoffed at it, I understood. You wanted something normal in your life and what’s more normal than taking your N.E.W.Ts?  I didn’t expect you to develop feelings for, well for her,” Narcissa sighed somewhat unhappily. She had such high hopes for her only child, but in the end, she surmised his happiness should be first and foremost.

 

“I miss her,” Draco’s hoarse voice cracked as he hung his head.  “She won’t see me. She’s refused. Nott’s closed his Floo. My owls are returned unopened.  I don’t—I don’t know what to do. What’s wrong with me?” Draco’s lips smacked together and he baulked at the awful taste in his mouth.

 

“You love her,”  Narcissa stated simply.

 

"Yeah, I sussed that out myself years ago thanks," Draco rinsed his mouth with ice cold water and almost wished he kept some of Hermione's peppermint tooth glue on hand.  "It happened slowly, you know? Maybe you don't know. You and father were Arranged. I realise you love you each other now, but I suppose I always felt like it took time.

 

“Years?” Narcissa asked, startled by the information.  “I-I didn’t know.”

 

“You weren’t supposed to know.  No one was ever supposed to know, especially after she chose fucking Nott.  I had nearly worked up the nerve to ask her to tea and it was too late.”

 

Draco pressed his hands against the sink basin and for a moment, he was back at Hogwarts.  He was standing in Myrtle’s bloody bathroom with tears stinging his eyes. He was cursing his task, his existence, and even Lord Voldemort.  Later, of course, he was cursing Harry Potter and that much hadn’t really changed over the years.

 

“What did you expect would happen, Draco?” Narcissa sighed in exasperation and rolled her blue eyes heavenward.  “Did you believe we’d invite her to tea and easily accept our son’s relationship?”

 

“I hoped!” Draco shouted and spittle flung his lips to strike the vanity mirror.  “I hoped my parents would see beyond their ingratiated prejudices and put me first for fucking once.  She’s brilliant. She’s nothing Father ever said she was. She was the brightest student Hogwarts had seen in ages.  The only blight against her was her fucking blood.”

 

“Draco—“

 

"No!  You told me her magic was too new.  You told me she couldn't possibly be as powerful as a Pureblood witch.  You told me loads of things, which just helped instil my hatred because she was better than me.  She bested me in nearly every class and she disrupted everything I had been taught was truth. It was all lies.  She's the one that taught me blood doesn't matter and it never did. She's the one that told me your fucking Lord was a Half-Blood.  He wasn't even Pure and you lot clung to his every word as though he shat gold. She's also the one that told me to forgive my parents because they didn't know any better.  She said it was easier to subscribe to what they were taught than to think for themselves, so really, you should be thanking her that I even step foot into this Manor."

 

Draco’s cheeks flushed and his shirt clung to the sweat that dripped down his pale chest.  He gagged for a moment and wished away the vomit that begged to spew forth. He hadn’t anything left to give and finally, his stomach settled.  He nearly wished he were angry. Anger would be an easy emotion for him to wade through, but no, instead, his heart stabbed his soul with every beat and it was more than he could stand.

 

“I-I knew you still held resentments, but I had no idea how deeply your father and I had,” Narcissa struggled for a moment, “harmed you. If we still held firmly to those unfortunate beliefs, we never would have sought to aid your Ms Granger.  If you recall, I did _lie_ to that maniacal bastard for the slight hope of my son being alive."

 

It wasn’t much to offer him, but it was more than the nothing she had gifted to him in his childhood.  She had been a cold mother as hers had been before her. She held her son to the highest of standards and when he failed, she allowed Lucius to punish him accordingly.  Narcissa had never been the sort of woman to go against her parents’ or even her husband’s wishes, until her son was at stake.

 

“She’s pregnant,” Draco finally whispered.

 

“Is it yours?” Narcissa closed her eyes and wrung her hands nervously.  She didn’t know what to do with that sort of information, nor was it anything she had expected to hear.

 

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Draco choked on the words and cleared his throat.

 

"Does it matter?  Will you love her less?  Will you love the child...less?"  Narcissa pressed her palms against her son’s cheeks and forced his eyes to meet hers.  She desperately needed to know the truth in order to quantify her feelings on the matter.

 

“Fuck, Mother, I couldn’t even if I tried.”

 

Narcissa nodded slowly and drew her son into a rare embrace, “then, I suppose we’ll do what we must.”


	15. Session 108

**Session 108  
** **December 2001  
** **Hermione Granger**

* * *

 

_I’m going to assume based on your cringe worthy beaming smile, your friend sufficiently duped the Muggle and your abusive shite of a husband is thrilled._

 

You’ve got a way with words, Adelaide.  It would be nice to be able to say that I’m happy, but I don’t know what I am.  Things with my husband are different. It’s strange and it makes me wonder what would have happened if this sort of deceit had been implemented years ago.

 

_I imagine you’d be dead the moment your daughter was born.  I suppose the child would follow soon after, as long as she was born at home, which I imagine he would demand.  Your body would be decomposed significantly by now and your husband might very well have a new wife to use and abuse to his heart’s content._

 

Is this your way of telling me you believe I’m going to die?  I’m aware of the risks. I haven’t a choice. I can’t go through it, not again.  I can’t be this person, this woman, this witch. Fuck, I know I’m not a witch, but I was and it’s still part of me.  It’s there, this strength, and maybe it’s buried somewhere deep, but I can feel it. There are these moments and I can feel it.

 

_Are you not more than the sum of your parts?  Are you not more than your magic? Did your magic make you resourceful?  Did it make you intelligent? Did it make you studious? Did it make you strong?  Or did it merely emphasize that which was already there?_

 

It made me believe in the possibilities.  It was a breath of fresh air in a stagnant room.  It was a relief to finally understand why I was awkwardly different than my schoolmates than my parents.  It was everything until it was nothing.

 

_You’re angry, really angry.  This is good, tell me more._

 

Of course, I’m angry!  Everything is in fucking shambles and I don’t know how to fix it.  I hate not having the answers, not having the ability to do what I so desperately need to do because I was stupid and I married Theodore Nott.

 

_You don’t love Theo, why did you marry him?_

 

It’s easy to say I was young and stupid.  It’s what most women say when they’ve made horrible decisions in their youth, isn’t it?  It’s the truth, but it’s not the whole truth.

 

_What is the whole truth?_

 

I pretend everything is fine between Harry and I and it’s not.  I hug him on occasion and smile, but there’s this heaviness in my stomach, bile in my throat.  I don’t trust him. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust him again, not that he understands.  It wasn’t his fault and yet I can’t keep from blaming him, more so because he pretends it didn’t happen.  It did happen. It happened and it was awful and I have to live with it.

 

Ron and I fell apart, but I don’t even know what we truly had.  We argued more than anything else and he struck me once, on accident.  I know it was an accident. I saw the horror in his eyes and the apologies falling from his lips.  Later, he was struck with an Unforgivable and he blames me for that. He is absolutely positive it was me, despite the fact it was War and curses were flying everywhere.  It wasn’t much later that he told me he didn’t love me.

 

We were best mates.  We were family and it all fell apart.  I was alone and I’ve always hated being alone.  It’s a ridiculous insecurity that stems from my childhood and I’ve never been able to shake it.  I fancied someone and it didn’t even cross my mind that the feelings could be returned but they were.  They were and I chose Theo because he was nice to me. I chose Theo because he was kindness in the face of tears.  He was sweet when I needed it. He didn’t abandon me when I lost my magic. He told me that I was more than my magic and that he loved me.

 

It sounds stupid, doesn't it?  I suppose I'm nothing more than a starry-eyed girl with hopes and dreams dancing in her eyes.  At least, I was; I know better now. I wish there was more substance to my reasonings, a bit of intrigue even, but there's not.  I could lie and say he blackmailed me, which sounds infinitely more interesting than ‘Hermione Granger is just a stupid girl after all'.

 

_Who cast the Unforgivable, Ms Granger?_

 

I-I don’t know.  I wasn’t there. Ron said he woke on the ground, curled into a ball, in immense pain.  He’s never let it go. It’s been years. He’s absolutely determined to prove it was me or Draco Malfoy.  God knows he can’t let _that_ go.  He also claims he was Imperiused and that’s why he ended things with me.  It’s just like Ron, really. He’s not a bad person, but he does love to place blame.

 

_You blame yourself as well, don’t you?_

 

How could I not?  I was impetuous because I was sad.  How fucking ridiculous is that? I should have waited until I was clear headed.  I should have reported Harry to the Ministry and damn the consequences. I should have…lots of things, but it’s too late now.

 

_And what of Draco Malfoy?  Is it too late for that as well?_

 

Yes.  No. Maybe.  I don’t know.  It wouldn’t be fair to him.  He deserves more than the broken scraps I’ve offered.  He deserves more than me. I-I love him and I want to be selfish about it because it’s yet another moment of stupidity.  How can I love him when I don’t even like myself? Is that even possible? I want to latch onto him and allow him to buoy me to the surface, to land, but that’s unfair.  He can’t save me. I have to save myself.

 

_You’re going to do something reckless, aren’t you?_

 

Well, I _am_ a Gryffindor.

 

* * *

 

Gemma Farley’s feminine wiles were utterly useless when wielded on the likes of Viktor Krum.  He was a Neanderthal by anyone’s standards, but she was desperate. She stroked his forearm, batted her sooty lashes, licked her ruby lips, and he merely grunted.

 

“The Solstice Celebration is being heralded as the event of the year.”  Gemma laughed lightly and sipped her glass of red wine.

 

“Show tits.”

 

Viktor shoved yet another large piece of roast into his mouth and smacked his lips together noisily.  He was not ignorant of the ploys of ambitious women. He knew exactly how to manipulate situations in order to achieve his desires.

 

He gestured toward her blouse with his fork and belched loudly.  He blew the foam from his tall glass of ale and gulped while Gemma sat in stunned silence.  Viktor snorted, irritated with her posturing.

 

“I’m not going to do that.”

 

“You want go, yes?  You come, eat, laugh for party.  Viktor take you party. Show tits.”

 

Theo watched the exchange with amusement.  It wasn’t often he felt the flicker of laughter bubble in his chest, especially since falling in with Viktor Krum.  In fact, he was usually overflowing with cantankerous rage due to his wife’s existence. Gods, how he hated that woman, regretted marrying her, and everything associated with her.   _Just a little while longer_.  

 

“Where is she?”

 

Viktor snarled at his current bedmate, irritated with the interruption and slammed his fist on the table.  Gemma’s fingers hovered near the throat of her blouse and he knew if Theo hadn’t invaded the Conservatory, he’d be enjoying a passable set of tits.

 

“Pug girl and blue boy take her.”

 

“By all means, Ms Farley, don’t let me interrupt.”  Theo sat clear at the end of the table, his fingers thrumming against the wood.

 

He missed Ernie, missed him desperately.  It was the little things he missed the most.  Ernie’s laugh, the curl of his hair just above his ears, the fire in his eyes as he licked his lips over a glass of firewhiskey, the feel of his body on a cold winter’s night.  Instead, he was subjected to Bulgarian grunts of discontent and bouts of terrifying sex.

 

“She look like boy.”

 

Viktor grunted, slightly disgruntled by the lack of ample breasts.  He preferred his men soft and slightly combative if he was being honest.  It looked as though Gemma could fit the criteria. Her arse was shapely and he did love a nice plump arse.  Her breasts were exceedingly small and he wondered how the Malfoy boy had found satisfaction.

 

“Yes well, isn’t that lovely,”  Theo mused. “Will she be partaking in Fervor as well or is that simply something you reserve for me?”

 

Viktor laughed and it was a robust sound Theo found off-putting.  He’d merely wanted to increase his fortune, perhaps gain a bit of respect in questionable circles.  He wanted his grandfather’s portrait to stop sneering at him, berating him. He didn’t want a wife, a pregnant wife no less.  He wanted Ernie. It was always Ernie.

 

“I’d rather not if my opinion means anything.”

 

Gemma Farley hastily buttoned her blouse, but Viktor was quick.  He yanked her forward by one arm, chuckling when she crashed to her knees.  He allowed her to scramble to her feet, his free hand busy with the clasp of her skirt.

 

“You want taste?”  Viktor gestured at the squirming witch and winked at Theo.

 

“I want Ernie.”

 

“You whine like girl.”  Viktor snarled, his lip curled angrily.  “Go, have your boy. I keep this.”

 

“Better you than me.”  Theo tipped his imaginary hat toward Gemma and practically skipped toward the Floo.

 

Viktor barely noticed when Theo sprinted toward the hearth.  He was much more interested in the delightfully round arse of Gemma.  He grunted and squeezed each cheek with reverence.

 

“I didn’t come here to be molested and abused.”  Gemma tried to keep the warble from her voice, but she faltered as her nylons were torn.

 

“I have drug.  You want drug or you want fight?  I like fight. I like boy. I like girl look like boy.  I like all. I want. I take.” Viktor forced Gemma across his thighs, twisting her arm behind her back, and smelled her hair.

 

“I want Draco Malfoy.”  Gemma winced against the hard, unforgiving, burly chest of the Bulgarian.

 

Viktor laughed.  He didn't understand the obsession with the pale blond wizard.  He was strong. He was virile. Men and women should fall at their feet for the slight possibility of receiving his cock, but instead, they lamented a pompous arse obsessed with a Muggleborn.

 

“Scream for him later.  Scream for me now.”

 

Viktor hefted the witch onto his shoulder and stood with a slight grunt.  His meaty hand slapped her arse and he chuckled when she yelped. She would do, he supposed.  He sort of liked the jiggle of her fleshy bum and she was quiet. He did appreciate silence, but Viktor knew she’d be screaming his name in no time.  They always did.

 

* * *

 

“This is a terrible idea.”

 

Pansy Parkinson marched along the cobblestone and yanked on Hermione’s elbow.  Cass snorted and resisted the urge to toss his arm over Hermione’s shoulders. They were trying to be discreet.  Of course, they were failing, but he had enough sense to refrain from sharing such thoughts with Pansy.

 

“You keep telling us and yet here we are.”

 

Cass attempted to lighten the mood, but neither Hermione nor Pansy cracked a smile.  He didn’t like it, not one bit. Hermione Granger wasn’t supposed to be this simpering mute pathetic creature.  She was supposed to be headstrong, vivacious, and irritatingly full of life.

 

“I don’t understand why you can’t wait until the Solstice Celebration.”  Pansy pleaded with the eerily silent Gryffindor, her grip tightened significantly on Hermione’s terribly thin forearm.

 

“She wants to say goodbye, Parkinson.  H has it in her head that this is it. She’s going to bait Nott until he snaps.  Either he’ll kill her or lock her away. She’s an intelligent woman and if I had to guess, I’d say she’s been plotting for ages and saving it for the ridiculous Malfoy Ball.  There should be a fair amount of Aurors there, Nott’s boyfriends, not to mention Malfoy and some of his exes. It’s perfection, really. I, for one, am hoping she doesn’t wind up dead, but I don’t think she cares anymore, not that I blame her.”

 

A shift in the winds blew Warrington’s blue tips into his face and he smiled.  It might have seemed completely out of place considering the silent fury painted on Pansy’s face and Hermione’s pensive stare, but it felt right.  The end was in sight and while Cass was positively certain it wouldn’t end with a pretty bow, it was an end just the same.

 

He knew Pansy probably would have shrieked, which would have led to a very public, exceedingly loud row, but the warning in his crystal clear blue eyes caused her to remain silent for the moment.  Cass was positive they would not escape unscathed, but for the moment, all was well.

 

“We’re near the Leaky.”

 

Hermione’s heart thundered, nearly rattled in her chest, as they drew closer to the seemingly nondescript abandoned warehouses.  She loved to be surrounded by magic. It made her feel powerful. She could feel it rushing through her veins and she was determined to regain it.

 

She’d been the victim, wallowed in her misery, succumbed, for far too long.  There wasn’t much she could do, not with the power Theo wielded, but she wasn’t completely helpless.  Her predicament hadn’t changed, merely her mindset, and that was what made all the difference.

 

“We can’t go to the Manor,”  Pansy groaned.

 

“Parkinson, Floo to the Manor and retrieve Malfoy.  I’ll bring H to The Fox.”

 

Cass glanced over his shoulder and dragged Hermione into the Leaky.  Pansy wasn’t happy about the decision, but she wasn’t about to refuse.  She’d made promises. She didn’t have to agree with any of them. She merely had to keep her word, no matter how difficult it would be.

 

She considered pleading with Hermione one last time.  Her thoughts were heavy, filled with trepidation mixed with fury while she grasped a handful of Floo Powder from the small pot.  Her lips parted and Hermione shook her head, brown eyes pleading for silence and Pansy sighed sadly before she was whisked away in familiar green flames.

 

“The Fox?”  Hermione questioned the moment she stepped from the Floo.  “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t I know that?”

 

Cass shrugged, offered a half smile, a wink, and his arm.  He had a tendency to avoid her probing questions. They were pointless, to him at least.  He never understood her voracious need to question everything. Some things simply were, but that was never good enough for his H.

 

“This place is filthy,”  Hermione gasped, cringing away from the layer of dust that clung to every surface.  “I’ve never seen it like this.”

 

“We haven’t been here.  I could have stayed, but someone had to keep an eye on him.  Can’t have him drinking himself to death or hexing his parents.”

 

“Why isn’t Brisby keeping up with—“

 

“Mistress!  Mistress has returned!”  Brisby bowed deeply, trembling with happiness.

 

“Cass, what’s happening?”  Hermione backed away from the elf, her hands fidgeting with the buttons on her modest green dress.

 

Brisby’s inordinately large ears fluttered and he twisted his fingers.  He hadn’t meant to upset his Mistress. Master had told him to remain hidden until she came, but he was merely excited by her presence.

 

When the Floo roared to life, Brisby quaked, squealed, and disappeared with a pop.  Cass snorted and sauntered into the garden, leaving Hermione behind. She spun on her heel and he was there.  

 

He was there, staring at her, purple bruises beneath his wild eyes.  The spaces between them grew with every shallow breath, the vastness cloaked in inches.  Her fingers stretched toward him before they constricted, remaining at her side.

 

His scuffed black shoe scraped against the hardwood, eradicating the silence.  With every hesitant shuffle forward, she retreated, her honey eyes fastened on him.  She was desperate to see him from afar, always from afar, and having him so close clouded her thoughts, derailed her meticulous plan.

 

“Oh come on now!  You lot haven’t moved a fucking inch.  You’re both utterly ridiculous. I expected to walk in on some prime snogging.  I’m severely disappointed in both of you.” Cass shook his head and clucked his tongue against his teeth.

 

“You’re an idiot,”  Hermione whispered, focusing on Cass rather than the wizard that set her skin aflame.

 

“Aye, but I’m your idiot.”

 

Cass loped his gangly arm over her shoulder, dragged her close, and kissed her temple.  She melted into his side, her breaths slow and careful, eyes closed. She didn’t see the way Draco’s eyes narrowed, his eyes flitting back and forth between her and Cass.

 

“You love her.”  The raspy voice surprised them, the anguish nearly palpable.

 

Hermione stiffened in Warrington’s embrace and he held her tighter.  He was her beacon in a sea of darkness. While she had withdrawn from Draco, he’d kept her safe.  He’d distracted Theo with casual chats over firewhiskey that always meandered back to Ernie. He’d warded her bedchamber against unwanted entry.  He’d spent many a night Disillusioned outside her door while Theo and Viktor engaged in their raucous activities.

 

“Yes, I do love her, but not in the way you’re thinking,”  Cass sighed. “You’re terribly insecure. It’s unattractive just in case you were wondering.  H, put the bloke out of his misery, alright love? I know this isn’t what you planned in that overactive head of yours, but why stare at him off in the distance if you can hold him in your arms?”

 

She hadn’t a proper retort, not for that sort of logic, not that she would ever admit it.  Instead, she surged onto her toes and embraced Cass around the neck, squeezing hard. Her nose pressed against the side of his throat, his scent tickled her nostrils.  Despite Warrington’s impeccable grooming, the undercurrent of sweat was always present and it mingled with the herbaceous Potions and the musk of his cologne that clung to his clothes.

 

“Whatever would I do without you?”

 

Cass chuckled and squeezed Hermione until her feet barely grazed the ground.  She held him tighter and pretended she couldn't feel his feet slide along the hardwood.  Cass tugged her arms from his neck the moment he set her down and spun her from him.

 

“Let’s never find out,”  Cass whispered. “I’m off children.  Have entirely too much fun and do everything I would do.”

 

Draco remained still until he was absolutely certain Cass had vacated his home.  He needed the few moments to collect his thoughts. It was challenging to think of her as his after seeing her with Cass.  He was naturally a possessive man; sharing her with Nott was excruciating, but to see the way she loved Cass hurt.

 

“Hi.”

 

His cocky half smile made an appearance the moment she broke the silence.  He felt as though he had won something tangible. He held out his hand and his half smile stretched wide as she stepped toward him and grasped his fingers.

 

He didn’t care her face was rounder.  He didn’t care about the obvious bulge beneath her flattering dress.  He didn’t care about any of it when he tugged her into his arms.

 

The pounding in his skull, just behind his grey eyes, lessened the longer he breathed her in.  Draco couldn’t count the number of times he’d contemplated the murder of Theodore Nott. He’d discussed it at length with his father, but Lucius blathered on about the horrors of Azkaban.

 

The unknown ramifications that would befall Granger were the only reason Nott wasn’t dead.  His father’s words, Potter’s ineptitude, meant nothing to him in comparison to her. He wasn’t an overly emotional wizard, but the depth of his feelings for that particular witch was endless.

 

“I missed you,”  he murmured in her hair, his palms flat on her back as he held her close.  “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

 

“I was protecting you.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Granger.  You were protecting yourself.”  He sighed, caught between pleasure and pain.  “Do you honestly believe you’re the only one that would suffer if something were to happen to you?  Do you think we don’t know you’re bloody plotting? You are not a sacrifice, Granger.”

 

“I would be, if necessary.  I’ve scoured the documents. I’ve pored over them with your father and without.  The caveats for freedom are few and far between. I’m merely doing what is necessary to ensure my child’s survival.”

 

Draco’s long fingers dug into her bony shoulders and he shook her lightly.  He snarled angrily, bit back a scathing retort, and was prepared to row with her until she listened to reason.  Of course, she stroked his face delicately and kissed him, which ruined everything.

 

Her desperation ruined his perfect little plan.  He wanted to speak to her, convince her. He wanted to explore the idea of a future.  He didn’t want to succumb to her charms and fall onto freshly laundered sheets, except that he did.

 

He hated every nanosecond his mouth was not attached to hers and grappled with her dress in his haste to remove it.  Her laughter was muffled, her fingers nimble as she shoved his shirt from his shoulders. The mutual sigh of contentment set off a burst of juvenile laughter that quickly segued into intense snogging.

 

Draco flopped beside her, his lips quickly following his exploring hands.  Gods, he had missed her, wished to claim her, keep her. Fuck, he’d marry her immediately if he could and the thought was sobering, but not nearly as sobering as the evidence of pregnancy.

 

“Do you,”  Draco cleared his throat, reverently stroking the gentle slope of her abdomen, “do you know what you’re having?”

 

Hermione bit her swollen bottom lip and raked her fingers through his hair.  She was nervous, terribly nervous. Her thoughts raced toward the negative and her heart pounded more from fear than lust.

 

“A girl, but that’s not what we told Theo.”

 

“A girl,” he breathed.  “A girl hasn’t been born in the Malfoy line for generations upon generations.”

 

“I don’t know if—“

 

“Let me pretend, just this once, Granger.”

 

He pressed his lips against the side of her stomach and glanced at her beneath the fringe of pale blond.  He was suddenly unsure. He nearly asked if the tears dripping down her cheeks were tears of sadness or joy, but he wasn’t quite sure the truth would please him, therefore he refrained.

 

Her open arms were silent acceptance of his request and suddenly, nothing was _enough_.  He couldn’t hold her tightly enough.  He couldn’t kiss her hard enough. He couldn’t get close enough.

 

It wasn’t enough to thrust his tongue between her parted lips and stroke her sex until she moaned.  Her fingers, her teeth digging rivulets into his skin? He needed more. His cock wedged between her thighs as he slid home?  He needed to remain inside her until his last breath. Perhaps then, he would have his fill of her.

 

“Oh gods, Draco,”  she moaned, her knees bent, hips rocking with his every stroke.

 

It was only him.  He was all she could see, all she wanted to see.  He was all she felt, all she wanted to feel. The scant moments they had managed to carve in the demands of time were no longer capable of fulfilling her need.  She loved him and it was stronger than anything she’d ever experienced. She wasn’t ready to let him go. She wasn’t ready to give up her fight, not yet, not if there was the remote possibility he could be her future.

 

“I wish you were mine,”  Draco whispered, his forehead slick against hers.

 

“I am.”

 

“I wish she was mine too.”  His hand slipped between them, lovingly stroking the place where her daughter slept.  “I want her, even if she’s not. I want it all and I’m a Malfoy. You can’t give up, Granger.  You can’t.”

 

Hermione nodded sleepily, gasping as his spent cock slipped from her.  She whimpered happily in the crook of his arm, cuddled against his chest.  This could be her future if she let herself believe it.

 

Theo, of course, had other plans, but he was far from their thoughts as they drifted to dreamless slumber.

  



	16. Solstice Celebration

 

* * *

 

Fuck, how he hated her.  It had grown over the years from simple distaste to absolute abhorrence.  He’d beaten her into submission but that fire in her eyes never fucking waned.  They were plotting against him, he knew that much, and she was the fucking master.

 

It would never do to be bested by filth, not by her, not by anyone.  He feared his reign of terror was nearly over, but perhaps, with a little bit of liquid luck, he could take her with him.  His demise would be worth it merely to see the life flicker from her eyes before darkness overcame him.

 

Gods, Malfoy would follow soon after, he had no doubts about that.  The bastard might have been recklessly devious when they were children, but apparently, Hermione Granger turned him into a simpering sop.  It was beyond pathetic and to make it worse, Lucius and Narcissa seemingly approved of their son’s involvements. Disgraceful.

 

“I can’t suck your cock when you’re thinking of her,”  Ernie garbled as his lips popped off the impressive head.

 

“I’m not, not really.”  Theo lovingly stroked Ernie’s head and reclined upon the four-poster.  “Actually, I’m wondering who is going to raise the child. I can’t be bothered with it.  I definitely cannot bear the thought of another fucking woman in my life, but what options do I have?”

 

Ernie languidly licked his way up his lover’s body and straddled Theo’s thighs.  He was giddy with excitement. The end, it was finally in sight and Theo would be his.  It was the epitome of ecstasy and more than he ever thought possible.

 

He never imagined Theodore Nott would angrily tear his family portraits from the wall.  He was practically giddy with excitement as the Nott ancestors roared in rage while Theo threatened them with fire.  He didn’t burn them, which saddened Ernie, but they were locked in trucks hidden away in the attic.

 

He’d practically moved into Devil’s Lair and it was only Krum’s continued presence that irked him.  At least the crass Bulgarian was preoccupied with the Farley slag and left his Theo alone. He had half a mind to send an anonymous owl to the Ministry.  Surely, they wouldn't approve of the illegal Potions Krum smuggled, but there was Theo to consider.

 

“We could hire a wet nurse to tend the parasite until he’s off to Hogwarts.  You’d have your heir, safely secure the continuation of your family line, and I’d have you.”

 

“I love you,”  Theo crooned, his head thrown back, chest slick with sweat.  

 

His hands covered Ernie’s, increasing the pressure on his cock.  He needed this. It had been so long, too long, and he was never letting Ernie go again.

 

“Enough to marry me?”  Ernie licked Theo’s earlobe, catching it between his teeth while Theo writhed beneath him.

 

“The moment she whelps my son is the last moment she draws breath.  I swear it; before her body is fucking cold, oh Merlin yes,” Theo panted,  “I’ll marry you."

 

* * *

 

“This is bullshit,”  Ronald Weasley grumbled, struggling into his dress robes.  “I don’t understand why I have to go to this fucking thing.”

 

Harry bit his tongue until it throbbed.  He had absolutely no desire to argue with Ron again.  It seemed to be an ongoing theme, especially since Ron discovered Hermione was pregnant.  He was tired of it and quite frankly, didn’t understand why Ron refused to grow the fuck up.

 

“It’s not my fault your rugby player returned to Brazil without you.  Here I thought I was being a good friend by negotiating an invitation for you.  Remind me to never do that again. It’s really not worth the effort. Daphne’s going to be put out with me as it is.”  

 

Harry adjusted his bow tie and frowned at his hair.  Of all the things he could inherit from his father, he’d received the wonky hair.  It was a wonder witches ever looked at him twice.

 

“Slytherins,”  Ron scoffed. “I’ve been betrayed.  I can’t believe my best mates have shacked up with fucking Slytherins.  No sense of loyalty.”

 

"Dammit, Ron!  You left. You left and chased off after some Muggle rugby player.  You lied to Hermione and told her you preferred blokes for fuck's sake.  Did you expect us to just, I don’t know, sit around and cry because you were gone?”

 

“Oh come off it, Harry.  You think I don’t know you shagged her in that tent?  You think I didn’t see the way she looked at you? I wasn’t going to play second best to you, not again.  Yeah, I went off with my rugby player, but so what? Hermione married fucking Nott and you’re shagging Greengrass for fuck’s sake.  What’s next? Plan to tell me you’re best mates with Zabini or Malfoy?” Ron shouted, his face redder than his hair.

 

“She only married him because you broke her heart!”  Harry’s wand stabbed Ron’s throat as he smashed Ron against the wall.  “He beats her, you arse. She’s locked into the tightest Marriage Contract the Ministry has seen in centuries.  Malfoy’s half in love with her and it's Lucius fucking Malfoy that's been appointed as her Advocate. Maybe you should educate yourself before you spout off your ridiculous bullshit.  There's a novel idea, you bastard. We've all been here for  _ her _ and where the fuck have you been?”

 

Ron roared, spittle flying from his lips, fumbling hands grappling for Harry’s lapel until they surrounded his throat.  The two wizards crashed to the ground, landing punches, awkward kicks, and rolling to and fro. They struck furniture and shards of glass rained down on them as priceless antiques shattered.

 

“You know he cursed me, Harry!”  Ron growled, blood dripping from the corner of his lip, his arm locked around Harry’s neck.  “He wanted her! He always wanted her! He cursed me and forced me to break up with her and you didn’t even believe me!”

 

Draco Malfoy was bored.  His position in the doorjamb allowed him to casually watch the Gryffindors feeble violent struggle.  It seemed they were tiring and where was the fun in that? It was definitely time to intervene.

 

“Why would I do that, Weasel?  It’s not like I got the girl in the end, is it?”  Draco buffed his fingernails against his dress robes and inspected their shine, utterly bored.

 

He exchanged a glare with Potter, grey eyes dangerously narrowed in silent warning.  He'd keep Potter's nefarious secret in return his the wizard's silence. Had Draco utilised an Unforgivable on a War Hero?  Yes, yes he had and he wasn't the least bit remorseful.

 

It was the aftermath that truly was the issue.  He shouldn’t have done it, he knew that now, but then, well it was a rash decision.  Draco had known Weasley was dallying with any and every adoring fan of his pseudo-heroism.  It drove him absolutely mad with fury.

 

He’d spent entirely too much time with Hermione, side by side, repairing the ruins of their school.  They’d forged a tentative friendship of sorts and as she crumbled every single one of his prejudices, he’d grown to like her.  It wasn’t in a romantic sense, not yet, but his righteous indignation on her behalf caused him to cast the Cruciatus. 

 

He meant it more than he ever had.  It was strong and true. He’d felt powerful when Weasley crumpled, huddled in the foetal position, and wet his trousers.  He released it only because he didn’t really wish to kill the bastard. She’d never forgive him for that.

 

Draco had mentioned it once, refraining from naming the wizard.  She’d rolled her eyes, sighed, and said it was in the past. He was a different man and he knew better.  Of course, she hadn’t the slightest idea concerning the Imperius. 

 

He didn’t force the Weasley to tell her the truth.  He’d merely directed the man to end their relationship.  Her answering fury set off Ron’s temper and the words spilt forth, while Draco held his breath.  It pained him to hear Ronald Weasley, War Hero, tell Hermione Granger he didn't love her. The bit about the Muggle bloke was surprising, but anything was possible when a Weasley was involved.

 

Harry shoved Ron and rolled to his knees, gasping.  He hated all the secrecy. He hated knowing Malfoy’s bloody secrets.  He despised the fact Malfoy knew his. He hated everything about everything in that moment, but especially Ron.

 

“It was Nott, wasn’t it?”  Ron grunted, stumbling to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

Simmering blue eyes look at Harry and Malfoy for an answer and their silence spoke volumes.  They knew! They knew and they did nothing! They didn’t care about him. Ron expected as much from Malfoy, but Harry’s betrayal rent his heart in two.

 

“Ron—“

 

“No.”  Ron held out his hands and retreated, shaking his head.  “You knew. You knew who’d done it and you didn’t, you didn’t care enough, you didn’t care about me enough to do anything about it.”

 

"Weaselbee,"  Draco groaned.  "It was recent, alright?"  He looked at Harry, eyebrows arched, daring him to refute the statement.

 

“Exactly.  A couple of blokes, too many glasses of firewhiskey, and you know how it goes.”  Harry shrugged, nervous sweat dripping down his spine as he gulped.

 

Ron nodded slowly, accepting the falsehood.  It was easier to believe than the truth. It definitely hurt less and it  _ was _ understandable.  He could forgive Harry that much.

 

“You’re not going to let him get away with it, are you?”  He inspected his reddened swollen knuckles and closed his eyes.  His temper wouldn’t do him a bit of good, not now.

 

“The Ministry is aware and is in the process of compiling a case against him.  I can’t tell you more than that.” Harry cleared his throat nervously, not that Ron noticed.

 

Draco took his leave, anxious to return to Granger.  Pansy unceremoniously tossed him out of his own bloody rooms in order to allow them privacy.  Personally, he thought it was ridiculous, he’d seen Hermione in much less than a dressing gown, but Pansy had insisted.  There were times it was easier to simply agree, something about choosing one’s battles or some such rot.

 

The Solstice Celebration was moments from commencement and tensions were high.  He forced his feet to move slowly, despite his desire to run through the corridors.  The last thing he wished was to be waylaid by his father and reprimanded.

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t fond of the Manor, the lingering ominousness felt heavy in the air.  She knew it was a figment of her imagination. The Manor was unrecognizable if she compared it to wartime.  The darkness had been exorcised by the power of Narcissa’s redecorating.

 

“It’s time.”  Pansy shoved elegant diamond hoops through her ears and gave her reflection a once over.

 

She'd convinced Oliver red was out of the question, but it took some manoeuvring.  He was inexplicably attached to his House, not that she understood. It was Yule, but that still wasn't a reason to wear bloody red, no, her shimmery black gown would do just fine.

 

“I still can’t believe it,”  Hermione breathed.

 

She didn’t recognise the bright-eyed woman staring back at her.  Her usual demure ensemble had been replaced by none other than Narcissa Malfoy.  She was remiss to stroke the satin with her clammy hands and expressed as much, but Pansy only laughed.

 

“It truly is a defining moment, Granger.  Narcissa has deemed you worthy. You do realise the gown you’re wearing is from her personal wardrobe?  It’s elegant and vintage and I’m ridiculously jealous. It’s a good thing Oliver Wood is deliciously handsome."  Pansy slipped on her silver stilettos and moved toward the door.

 

The door swung open, nearly striking the brunette witch as Draco barreled into the room.  His pale blond hair flopped into his eyes as he stumbled over his feet in his haste. He barely noticed Pansy as she slipped out behind him, his eyes locked on the object of his affections.

 

“What is it?  Is something wrong?”  Hermione twisted, frantically inspecting every inch of the satin gown.

 

Draco bit his knuckle to contain the moan lodged in his throat upon spying the back of the gown.  The barest hint of flesh along her spine, displayed by the magnificent keyhole was nearly his undoing.  It really was quite modest as far as gowns were concerned and he recognised his mother’s style. The high-necked bodice accentuated Hermione’s long neck and the lace overlay was a definite nod to her femininity.  The teal satin swished with her every movement as it swept the floor and he ached to touch her.

 

“No, you’re fine, better than fine.  I wasn’t, I mean, that’s my mother’s gown—“  Draco nervously adjusted the collar of his dress robes and patted his interior pocket, nodding his head slowly.

 

“I told her you wouldn’t like it, but she’s really quite insistent.”

 

“I love it, actually.  It’s very regal, delicate yet elegant.  It makes you look like the next Lady Malfoy, honestly.”

 

Draco crept up behind her and slid his arm around her waist.  He tapped the underside of her chin until she too was staring at their reflection.  Her curls were piled high on her head, soft tendrils framed her face, and her spectacular hair clasp glinted in the candlelight.

 

“I don’t want to see him.  I wish he had sent his regrets.”  

 

Hermione’s bottom lip trembled as reality came crashing down around her.  As much as she wished her little fairytale to be true, to spend the evening on Malfoy’s arm, smiling, laughing, dancing, she couldn’t.  She wasn’t Hermione Malfoy; she was Hermione Granger Nott and the bile churned in her stomach.

 

He hadn’t words of comfort to convey.  He wished, just as she. He exhaled against her ear, squeezed her upper arms, and kissed her temple.  He offered comfort in his silence and she greedily absorbed it, relying on his strength to keep her aloft.

 

“Malfoy, your mother—“  Cass interrupted, pausing as his eyes darted between the two.  He had to admit they were a striking couple, even in the face of Draco’s snarl of agitation.

 

Hermione steadied her nerves with a cleansing breath.  She could do this. It was only a ridiculously extravagant gala, a party.  She could smile. She could nod. She could do everything that was required of her.  It was merely another step toward the end. 

 

She blinked and realised Draco had pressed a box into her hands before silently exiting the room.  The velvet lid creaked as it opened and Cass was catching the contents before they spilt to the floor.  He snorted at the jewelled ensembles and rolled his eyes heavenward.

 

He yanked on her wrist and clasped the bracelet in place before she could object.  It was just like Malfoy to express his emotions in lavish gifts. He never was particularly good with words.  

 

“This is too much.”

 

"It's Malfoy, did you really expect anything less?  I suspect this is from his vault as well. Who on earth has ever bloody seen a five-strand pearl bracelet?  That diamond clasp is enough to make the old biddies green with envy." He knocked into her shoulder, smiling.

 

“Theo’s going to kill me,”  Hermione laughed and shoved the diamond and pearl teardrop earrings into place.

 

“I was fairly certain that was your plan all along, H.”

 

* * *

 

Gemma Farley tolerated the heavy hand on the small of her back as they approached Malfoy Manor.  The heavy emerald nestled between her breasts, showcasing her plunging neckline, was a small consolation prize for the abuses she’d suffered.  Her dark red lips stretched into a smile for the flashing of camera bulbs and she didn’t flinch when Viktor’s hand squeezed her arse. She could do this.

 

She gratefully accepted a flute of champagne the moment they stepped into the ballroom and scoured the guests for Draco.  She avoided the contempt that emanated from Lady Malfoy and crinkled her nose in distaste as Pansy Parkinson and Oliver Wood spun on the dance floor.  It was obvious from her stealthy observations Harry Potter had been in a scuffle, not that she cared.

 

“Nott is in the corner,”  Gemma murmured, hoping Viktor would desert her to indulge in his distasteful practices.

 

“We wait for Malfoy.”

 

She saw him and the pitter-patter of her heart excited her.  Of course, he hadn’t noticed her, not yet, but there was time.  She fidgeted beside Viktor, her emerald green gown chafing against the welts across her lower back.  It was titillating and terrifying all at once, but Malfoy could be her saving grace.

 

“What is keeping him?”  Gemma hissed.

 

“Myoninny,”  Viktor grunted and raised his flute in silent salute.

 

The Muggleborn bitch descended the marble steps near the entry with grace Gemma envied.  The Warrington bastard looked ridiculous with his stupid blue hair, but even she had to admit they made a striking couple.  She didn’t understand why Nott would allow such disrespect, until she observed Lucius Malfoy carefully stroke his wand, daring grey eyes hatefully glaring at Theodore.

 

Her lips twisted into a nasty sneer, oozing hatred while Cassius placed Hermione’s delicate hand in Draco’s.  The Malfoy heir was nearly beaming and if the guests noted such impropriety, they wisely kept their flapping lips closed.  Gemma growled, her upper lip twitching while they segued into a waltz.

 

“What does she have that I don’t?”  Gemma whined, desperate for the slightest bit of validation.

 

“All the things,”  Viktor snorted and vacated his position at her side.

 

Gemma snatched another flute of champagne and waited until her nemesis was animatedly chatting with Narcissa before she approached Draco.  She patiently waited while he spoke niceties to Blaise Zabini and his exotic date, not that she was noticed. It was utterly infuriating to be ignored.  She wasn’t meant for mediocrity dammit.

 

“I heard rumours of your attendance.  I’m saddened to learn they weren’t exaggerated.”  

 

“Draco,”  Gemma laughed, embarrassed.  “You don’t mean that.”

 

“Why are you here?  What do you want?”

 

Still, Draco had barely glanced in her direction.  She followed his narrowed eyes and of course, they were riveted to the Mudblood bitch as she squirmed in Nott’s forceful hold.  It was absolutely inconceivable for Draco Malfoy to be so enamoured with someone utterly beneath him. She had to know, the question burned deep, and it spilt from her lips before she could blink.

 

“How long have you been in love with her?”  Gemma’s lips twisted, marring her beauty.

 

“Two years,”  Draco spat, desperate to be free of her.

 

It was lost.  He was lost. All her scheming had been for nought.  He would never be hers again and it stung, twisted like a blade as the truth came crashing down around her.  Her departure was barely a footnote in the whirlwind of striking gowns and endless champagne.

 

A handful of days later, her death was much the same.  A few lines on the bottom of the Muggles pages and barely a mention in the Daily Prophet.  It wasn’t often a witch was struck by a Muggle conveyance, but it seemed even in death, Gemma Farley was inconsequential.

 

* * *

 

“I hate parties.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Too many fucking people.”

 

“I know.”

 

“They’re all staring at me.  You’d think they’d never seen the colour blue before today.”

 

Hermione lightly touched her top lip with three fingers of her right hand.  It calmed the spasm of laughter Cass had invoked. He truly was her favourite person.  He made her feel normal in the face of adversity. It was easy to forget she couldn’t snatch her wand and cast a spell with Cass at her side.

 

“Your robes match your hair, Cass.”

 

“It’s called style, H.”  Cass sniffed with faux disdain and sipped from his champagne flute, his pinkie crooked just so.

 

Hermione wished she could have another.  The first was bloody enjoyable before Malfoy snatched it away and glowered at her.  Personally, she thought he was being ridiculous, but it also warmed her heart to know he cared.

 

“If you could be anyone you wanted, who would you be?”

 

It was a game they’d played many times over the years.  It kept their thoughts focused on the possibilities rather than the wretched present.  It offered them freedom in the face of shackles.

 

“Bryan,”  Cass nodded thoughtfully.  “Bryan seems like a nice fellow.  Easy sort of life. Works hard. Perhaps he even has a family.  Yeah, I’d definitely be Bryan.”

 

Hermione held his hand, squeezing hard.  Her heart viciously beat beneath her breast as Gemma Farley approached Draco.  Cass stroked her thumb lovingly, a small measure of comfort while fear took its hold.  He didn’t let go, he never did, not even when Draco spurned the beauty.

 

“I don’t know a Bryan.”

 

Cass rolled his eyes, tossed his blue-tipped hair, and leant down to her ear, “of course not, love.  I’m Bryan and I’m fantastic.”

 

Cass kissed her forehead, her face carefully held in his hands, and it scared her.  He wasn’t usually affectionate, at least not in public, not in Draco’s presence. She didn’t want to let him go.  Something was wrong and the terror paralyzed her as she caught Theo’s hardened stare.

 

She held him a moment longer, suffering through his quizzical glance and kept eyes on him as he weaved through the throng of guests toward Theo and Viktor.  Her breaths were short and ragged. Draco’s gentle hand on the small of her back did nothing to assuage her fear.

 

“Potter and Weasley are marching their way over here.  I really don’t want to deal with them, but I’m not leaving your side, not again.”

 

Ron looked angry, not that Hermione expected anything less.  She’d never really known him as anything but terribly angry, which was a pity.  She liked to believe there was more to him than that, an inkling of depth, but she’d been nothing but disappointed thus far.

 

“Hermione, have a word?”  Harry ignored Draco for Ron’s sake.  He’d do nearly anything to limit the animosity.

 

“Actually, I think I’d like to find Cass.  I don’t—“

 

"This is more important than your blue-haired friend,"  Ron muttered.

 

“He’s my best friend and I’ve got a bad feeling about—“

 

“Look, it won’t take long, promise,”  Harry pleaded.

 

She couldn’t very well argue with him, not then.  They were already drawing curious glances. It wouldn’t bode well for her to be the cause of a ruckus.  Theo might be distracted by Ernie and Viktor, but his ire always returned to her. Always.

 

“Say it already.”  Hermione casually leaned into Draco’s side, drawing from his strength.

 

“I was sort of eavesdropping on Nott.  I simply need you to verify a few things.  I’ve already spoken to the Minister and if what Nott said is true, I can arrest him.  I can’t guarantee he’d receive a particularly long stint in Azkaban, but it would probably be long enough for—“  Harry gestured to Hermione’s middle and blushed, uncertain as to phrase the words. “You’d be able to, uh, well, The Advocate would come into play, and in just over a year, you’d be free of him.”

 

“Ask it, Potter.”

 

Draco’s hand rose to the keyhole opening of her gown, just to feel her skin beneath his.  It was an interesting turn of events. It saved him from murdering the bastard and hauling the body to The Black Lake.  Vaguely, he wondered if the Giant Squid would be disappointed before he returned his attention to Potter.

 

“Viktor Krum is going to be apprehended on smuggling charges.  Apparently, he’s been manufacturing and distributing an illegal Potion known as Fervor.  Upon further investigation, we discovered an unusually large shipment was delivered to Devil’s Lair.  Can you confirm this?” Harry’s Muggle pen scratched across his black leather notebook and Hermione sighed.

 

“He keeps it in the cellar.  I’m not permitted to venture down there.  He’s been dosing me with it for years. I wasn’t aware spousal abuse was considered illegal in the eyes of the Ministry.  From my experience—“

 

“It isn’t, not as far as your contract is concerned and I’m sorry for that.  I am. Our main focus is the illegal Potion Fervor.” Harry sounded quite grown up, nearly mature, and it warmed her heart.

 

“Ask about the other thing!”  Ron wrinkled his black dress robes by crossing his arms and puffing his chest.

 

“Nott might have mentioned the Imperius Curse…”  Harry sighed, frustrated with Ron’s interruptions.

 

This was it.  This was her moment.  She could lie. It would be such a little lie, no one would ever know.  She could do that much. It wouldn’t impugn her honour. After all the horrors she had suffered, no one would blame her for one tiny little lie.

 

“Did he do it, Hermione?  Was it his fault all this happened?”  Ron snarled, his cheeks red, his lips shiny with spittle.

 

She knew what he wanted.  She knew it ate at him. It never would have worked between them anyway, she knew that.  She supposed Ron knew as well, but to have the choices taken away was a different matter.

 

"He laughed about it.  He thought it was uproariously funny that he was integral in the disintegration of the Golden Couple."  Hermione was attuned to Draco, looking up at him as he stiffened.

 

“I need you to say the words,”  Harry ordered.

 

Hermione nearly smiled.  She felt incredibly fucking powerful.  It was a heady sensation. She missed it.  She missed this feeling of being alive. She was determined to embrace them and everything that came with it.  She was tired of being a cowering, pitiful excuse for a woman. She didn't need her magic. She needed her strength and for the first time in years…she could feel it pulsing through her veins.

 

“Theodore Nott cast the Imperius Curse on Ronald Weasley after the conclusion of the War.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not like this.

 

Pain, so much pain.  Explosions behind his eyelids with every blow.  He swore spells would do less damage than their weapons of choice.

 

He crumpled easily, the sting of a goblin forged dagger lodged in his back sent him careening to his knees.  Barking laughter filled his ears as he struck, his body manipulated. He begged. He pleaded. He sobbed, wailed even, yet it fell on deaf ears.

 

They, he knew it was they, paused and inspected him carefully.  They murmured quietly, but he could barely hear beyond the ringing that filled his head.  He concentrated on his breaths, wondering which would be his last.

 

He was drowning.  He coughed, choked, on the coppery liquid as it filled his throat, darkness surrounding him.  The stars twinkled overhead, almost winking at him, laughing at his demise.

 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not like this.

 

He struggled against his bonds, every garbled breath searing his lungs, stinging his eyes.  His vision blurred, but he could discern the shadow standing at his feet, marring the beauty of the full moon.  It truly was a beautiful night, Hermione would have loved the view.

 

He never called her Hermione and as the magicked blade sliced easily through his skin, he wondered why.  He hoped she was safe. He trusted Malfoy more than he had ever trusted anyone. He winced, unable to do more, and finally, he stopped struggling.

 

It was futile.  He knew it was futile.  His head cracked against the hard ground, a firm hand smothering him.  He hadn’t any fight left in him. He focused on his girl. He wanted his last thoughts to be of her.  She was worth this.

 

He should have been kinder.  He shouldn’t have prodded the sleeping basilisk.  He shouldn’t have attempted to spirit away its prized possession, but he had to.  He wasn’t brave, never had been. He wasn’t particularly brilliant either, but he had heart.  He didn’t regret anything, he couldn’t. He only wished he could have seen it to the end.

 

Gods, the stars were beautiful in their brilliance.  The air was frigid, not that he could feel it. He couldn’t feel anything anymore.  His hands scraped the cold ground, his fingers reddened and broken. He’d put up a good fight, not that anyone would ever know.

 

He hoped she didn’t find him.  He hoped she never knew the atrocities.  She didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t her fault, but she would take the blame and it was the last thing he wanted.  Merlin, he loved her. As much as he was her beacon in the sea of darkness, she was his.

 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not like this.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a therapy story, in that, as the words fly across the pages, they are taken from the deep recesses of my soul. They're the hidden things, the secrets, the proverbial pink elephant. Fiction is often laced with truth and the truth is filled with darkness.


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